His Only Child
by Demon Hunter Anamae
Summary: ~Complete~ Melchiah remembers a time when he adopted a human child and raised her as his own.
1. Chapter 1

Melchiah sat down heavily on the black clothed bed in the middle of the dark room and held his head in his hands. Why had he come here? It always caused him such pain to be in this chamber, a pain that he had convinced himself that he never wanted to feel again in his entire life. But then why had he come? It would be one of those rhetorical questions that he would always ask himself until his dying day, never receiving an answer. The furniture was draped in black cloth so that the ever-present dust that floated through the air would not destroy the fabrics. The massive wardrobe in the corner still held all the clothing, the bureau all the makeup and the baskets all the dolls, all covered up and placed away so time would not warp them with its harsh effects. The servants had dutifully cleaned the carpet ever second week as they had been ordered to, everything they had moved placed back with such diligence to make it look like they had not been there to begin with. Pictures hung in ornate frames had been covered in the same black cloth; the windows tightly sealed and the light blocked as well.  
  
Perhaps, Melchiah thought, I come here because... because I want to remember the happier times, those simpler times. Perhaps because I cannot let go of the past, even if my other brothers urge me to. But I know they do not really mean it. They feel the pain I do, if to some lesser extent, and I know they come here as well to reflect on those times, those memories that they cannot let go. Even Dumah, who believes himself to be immune to emotion, could not let go of the past.  
  
The Clan Lord stood and fixed the bed sheets, then walked over to the wardrobe and opened it. Colourful dresses, wrapped and folded carefully, sat silently and seemed to mock him. Melchiah's eyes welded up with tears and he quickly shut the doors but not before something fell out on the floor next to his feet. He looked down and saw the doll staring back up at him.  
  
It was a simple rag doll: black yarn for hair, buttons for eyes, a goofy smile sewn on at an angle, and a dress made of blue wool. The vampire picked it up in one talon and looked at it closely, his throat feeling tight. He went back to sit down on the bed, still holding the doll and looking at it with a wistful gaze in his yellow eyes. Melchiah remembered this doll more than all the others he had given her; he had made by himself. A clumsy and poorly constructed doll compared to the fine porcelain and china ones that had once lined the now vacant shelves in this room, but she had loved it more than all the others.  
  
Clara.  
  
The thought of her still made Melchiah want to cry as he was now doing, silent tears tracking down his pale face. The memories of those happier times came flooding back to him, the memories that he held on to in his mind and would never let go of. He looked at the doll and remembered when he had first started down that road; a road that he wished could of never ended.  
  
* * *  
  
It was raining. Melchiah hated it when it rained. His vampires could not hunt; his servants could not clean the halls of his palace properly with the dampness seeping in from every crack in the wall. It slowed everything down for him and boredom set it very quickly. Melchiah's territories were located right between Raziel's and that of a swamp; beyond the swamp lay the human villages and towns that pledged their loyalty and faith to him and his vampires, and spawned food for them. A good arrangement for the Melchiahim Clan, they were the weakest of all the vampires and did not have to go far to feed or collect humans to turn into new vampires. But when it rained and the sky lit up with lightning as it was doing now, Melchiah did not think it such a grand idea.  
  
In fact, it stunk.  
  
The Clan Lord wandered the halls of his silent palace, passing by rooms filled with fledglings learning their skills from older vampires, nodding and talking to his children if they asked him a question or two, then continuing along his way. In a way Melchiah liked the silence of his Clan in comparison to the boisterousness of Clan Turelim or the silent plots and schemes of Clan Zephonim. Soon the youngest of Kain's Lieutenants found himself standing in the main hall of his palace, looking out at the great storm with his arms folded across his chest and a blank look on his face. Matron, the only human female Melchiah found competent enough to manage the day-to-day affairs of his servants, approached him quickly.  
  
"Does something ail you, Milord?" She was sixty-one in human years but her body did not show it. Matron's face was heavily lined from years of stress, but she was still strong. She wore her steel gray hair tied back in a severe bun, her black wool dress always ironed and looking crisp and wearing the ring of keys to the household around her neck from a thick chain with pride; her badge of office.  
  
"Nothing ails me," Melchiah spoke quietly, his voice still carrying in the mausoleum he called home. "Have you completed all of your work for the evening, Matron?"  
  
The old woman chuckled, teeth clacking together. "With this rain, no. It will create even more work for those lazy servants tomorrow but they will not complain if they do not wish to has the stitch across their backside." Melchiah nodded slightly and was about to leave as a gigantic boom of thunder rumbled across the night sky, stopping him. It was not the thunder that startled him, but something else. He thought he heard someone knocking on the front door... there it came again.  
  
He stalked towards the front door and opened it up quickly, making sure than none of the rain that was pouring down heavily landed on him. No one stood on the massive steps leading up to his palace, but it sounded as if someone had pulled at the heavy iron knocker on the door. Melchiah was about to chalk it all up to the rumoured ghosts of the swamp when a cry pierced through the rain, the sound of an infant. The vampire lord looked down at the doorstep where, swathed in ragged blankets in a reed basket, was a baby. Matron pushed past her lord, saw the infant, gasped like a fish out of water, then quickly picked up the basket and moved back inside. Melchiah followed, closing the door behind him.  
  
"Matron, why the look on your face? It is only a human child, left out there by some mother," he said. The babe screamed and kicked out with tiny legs, hollering for all it was worth. It could have been no more than three weeks old.  
  
"I know, my lord, but I wonder where this child came from? It is not everyday that a child is deposited in front of a Clan Lord's holdings. I will remove the infant from your sight, my lord." Before the old woman could move away with the basket that contained the crying child, Melchiah had reached in and taken out the baby, holding the human in the fashion he had seen other human women do with their own infants. Immediately the child's cries lessened, small arms failing around to grasp onto Melchiah's talons. The baby's tiny eyes opened, showing the irises to be a light blue. For a few moments Melchiah regarded the infant he was holding, just as the baby was looking back at him. Then instead of crying out as all human children had done upon seeing the Clan Lord, the baby simply cooed and burbled happily.  
  
"My lord," Matron spoke apprehensively, "shall I take the child from you now?" She could not believe the sight she was witnessing, that Lord Melchiah was holding onto a human infant which moments before she had been unable to calm and was now resting in the vampire's arms. For Melchiah, Matron had disappeared from his world. The thunderstorm and rain had faded silently into the background and all he could do was look at the child he was holding.  
  
"Someone must have brought the child here for a reason," Melchiah muttered. "For some reason."  
  
"It does not need concern you, Lord Melchiah. Just some peasant woman in one of the villages probably, hoping that her child would be given the gift of immortality. I will set the babe up with a mother if you wish, or have it killed." Matron hoped that the vampire would hand the infant over to her and that everything would be forgotten. She knew that sometimes the lord chose the best skin of his human slaves and took them as his own, even if the humans had once been children, even babies. Melchiah fixed the old woman with one of the most evil stares she had ever seen.  
  
"Kill," he hissed. "Kill an infant, Matron? The very idea of you wanting to kill one of your own still surprises me, old woman. I will hear no more of that disgusting topic; remove yourself from my sight. But before you do, know this. I intent to raise this infant as my own. Why do you look surprised?"  
  
"I-it is just that, my lord, she is a human and you are a mighty Clan Lord. You do not need to be beset with the problems of raising an infant when you have your own Clan to think about. I will take the child and give it to a mother who has lost her own infant, if it will please you."  
  
Matron made a half-hearted attempt to take the baby from Melchiah's arms, but the vampire simply moved off to one side while holding the infant protectively in the crook of his arm. "It would please me, Matron, that you keep your views to yourself unless I ask of them. Prepare a room for this child and anything that it might need."  
  
Matron coughed politely. "My lord, do you even know if the child is a boy or girl?" Melchiah gave the old woman a withering look, and then handed the child over to her. The old woman turned away, then turned back. "Well Lord Melchiah, you are the father of a baby girl, and as healthy as they come." The lord took back the young infant quickly, wrapping his own Clan banner around the babe for warmth.  
  
"She will need a name," he spoke, a ghost of a smile playing across his lips. In fact, Melchiah now seemed to be full of a light that Matron had never seen him display, not even around his own vampiric children. It seemed that in the very brief time Melchiah had held this baby in his arms a change of such significance had passed over him. "Clara. Yes, you'll be Clara, my little daughter. My only child that is human and will remain so."  
  
"She will need a wet nurse, my lord, as well as a nanny."  
  
"You fill in the details Matron. That is what you are here for," Melchiah absently waved a hand over his shoulder as he cradled Clara close to him. Already she was asleep, one of his talons entrapped in her tight grip. Matron bowed and left to oversee the preparations of a quick nursery, leaving Melchiah in the main hall. "I have always been the weakest of my brothers, but now here is someone weaker than me, seeking my help and protection," Melchiah whispered softly. "Clara, my little daughter, my only child. I will love and protect you to the end of my days."  
  
* * *  
  
Melchiah wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand, and then looked down at the doll. Yes, that one night had changed his whole life. He saw in that unprotected and undernourished child a chance for... for what? Salvation of his soul, a break from constant boredom in an increasingly uninspired life?  
  
No, he saw someone that needed to be loved and the Clan Lord had enough love to spare for over ten Clara's. Melchiah clutched the doll protectively against his chest as he remembered when his brothers had found out about him adopting a human child of his own. He remembered how Raziel had approached him on the subject, not wanting to believe that Melchiah was capable of such an act of kindness.  
  
Yes, he remembered... 


	2. Chapter 2

"So have you heard the news," Raziel glanced over at Zephon from across the table as he flipped the cards in his clawed hands, stacking them and then sorting through them with ease. The fifth eldest sat at the opposite end of the table, a satisfied smirk on his face as he caught Raziel's eyes.  
  
"Heard what?" Dumah asked, reaching across the circular table for the jug of ale to refill his already empty goblet. He sat next to Raziel, and after him was Rahab then Turel. The five brothers sat in a simple room in Raziel's Clan Holdings with black candles casting a harsh glow over them, playing a card game that Turel had introduced a few nights back to them something called poker. The only reason Raziel was playing it was because he needed to get back the money from Turel that he had lost, which he in turn owed to Rahab. As usual, Melchiah was absent from this friendly get together; most thought it was because he was never very social to begin with.   
  
"Well, I have heard from my sources a very interesting little tidbit," Zephon said as he passed around the coloured rocks that served as the coinage for this game. "Something I am sure all of you will be dying to hear."  
  
Turel gave Zephon an annoyed look as he brushed back his hair. "So shut up and just tell us already. Raziel, deal the cards." The eldest quickly dealt out five cards to each of his siblings, face down, and waited for Zephon to speak. The Clan Leader of the Zephonim vampires cleared his throat, looked each of his brothers in the eyes, and then finally spoke.  
  
"I know why Melchiah has not come tonight; not because he feels insignificant to us in every way but because, and this is truly shocking news, he taking care of…a human child!" Zephon leaned back in his chair and looked at his cards with a black face, letting what he had just said sink in for the rest of the Lieutenants. Raziel folded his cards and raised an eyebrow at Zephon.  
  
"Honestly Zephon, you and your rumors and blind gossip will one day get the better of you. Where did you hear this from, one of your spies?"  
  
"Of course, Raziel. Where else."  
  
Dumah snorted and wiped his mouth with the back of his massive hand. "Melchiah, that twerp? Taking care of a child and a human one besides? The whole idea is laughable Zephon. He cannot even take care of himself, as any vampire from any Clan would know. I think that your spy was wrong in their information. Perhaps they drank just a little too much, or one of those stupid human servants were talking about another human brat and mistook it-"  
  
Zephon slammed his cards down on the table and looked at Dumah. "Are you saying that my sources might be wrong?"  
  
"I believe that is what Dumah is implying, as would I," Rahab spoke up quietly, flicking through his cards with a frown on his face. "I find the whole idea of Melchiah raising a child rather far-fetched. It just does not seem like him in the least."  
  
"Like how you seem to be the bookworm when actually it is Zephon who reads far more than you, Rahab?" Turel gave a knowing wink and laughed. "All I am saying is appearances are deceiving. There might be a grain of truth in this rumor that Zephon has heard. All things usually do."  
  
That made Dumah laugh. "Yes, but Melchiah, caring for a child? Let us be sensible. You know as I know that could never happen Turel. I mean, look at Melchiah. He scares everyone off. His skin is constantly peeling and molting off his weak frame, he does not heal as we do, he has no true talent as we have…how can he possibly take care of a child, any child? I would really like to know, I really would."  
  
Raziel sighed as his siblings began to bicker with each other. Zephon was beginning to speak in that arrogant voice of his while Dumah rumbled on and on about Melchiah's incompetence, while Rahab and Turel tried to just figure out if Melchiah was capable of such a thing. The card game had been all but forgotten; Raziel stood up and placed his Clan banner about his shoulder and moved towards the door.  
  
"Hey, where are you going," Turel demanded.  
  
"While all of you can trade words and blows for as long as you like, I am going to go and see if this rumor that Zephon has heard is actually true." With that said, Raziel opened up the door to the room and slammed in shut behind him with unnecessary force, causing two candles to topple onto the ground that Turel stamped out with his cloven feet quickly lest they make the carpet catch.  
  
A brief silence ensued, then Rahab spoke. "So are we still playing poker or not?"  
  
***  
  
Melchiah stood over the crib that housed Clara inside, dangling one talon over the side for her to grab onto and suckle at. For such a tiny being, she possessed an incredibly strong grip. The nursery had been set up quickly by Matron in the past day; the room was right next to Melchiah's so if Clara cried at all during the night he could be right beside her. The crib occupied a small alcove with a window above it, the curtains made of a soft yellow material, and at the moment enough dolls and children's books lined the room to make it look like there were three children instead of one living here. Melchiah knew that Clara would not be able to read for a while yet, she could not even walk, but that did not matter. He loved his daughter more than his own life.  
  
His daughter.  
  
The vampire lord was still trying to get use to those two words and found he enjoyed them. He enjoyed everything about Clara, from the way she cooed and giggled at everything she saw to how she tried to crawl across the floor. And Melchiah saw that his greatest achievement so far was actually learning how to change her diaper and help feed her. It made him feel so powerful, so alive.  
  
"Now you have to go to sleep, Clara. Go to sleep because daddy has said so," Melchiah spoke in a little voice that seemed to calm her more than the nanny's. "And look, daddy's made you a present that he spent all day working on so you could sleep with it."   
  
From the folds of his Clan banner Melchiah withdrew the small rag doll that he had indeed spent all day on. His thumb on his left hand was wrapped in a bandage; he had pricked himself there more than he cared to remember but he had finished the doll for his child. Clara giggled and grabbed at the small rag doll, clinging to it as if for dear life and drooling on its head. A polite knock at the door made the vampire lord turn. A servant stood there, head bowed respectfully.   
  
"What," he inquired.  
  
"Milord Melchiah, your elder brother Lord Raziel wishes to have a few words with you. He is out waiting in the hall." With a bow the servant left. Melchiah turned back to Clara and already saw her sleeping, the doll clutched in both hands. He smiled and kissed her forehead gently, then went to go and see why Raziel had decided to pay him a visit. The eldest brother was leaning casually against the wall, arms folded across his chest. He nodded to Melchiah and stepped towards him.  
  
"I see you are doing well, little brother. I have a question for you?"  
  
"What is it, Raziel?" Melchiah tapped his foot impatiently against the floor and waited. Why was Raziel looking at him so?  
  
"I have heard, rumors mostly, that you have come into possession of a…human child and that you have decided to raise this being as your own. Tell me if these allegations are true or nothing more than a joke of sorts, Melchiah."  
  
Melchiah drew himself up to his full height and looked at Raziel straight in the eye. He could not suppress the proud smile that lit up his face. "Yes, I have adopted a baby girl as my own. Her name is Clara and she is my daughter."  
  
"What?" Raziel's mouth dropped open and his eyes seemed to grow as large as saucers. "Y-you are not kidding, are you? Seriously?"  
  
"No, I am not Raziel. I could not be more truthful. Someone left poor Clara on my doorstep and I have taken her for my own child. And it has been the best thing that has ever happened to me." For a few moments Melchiah saw his eloquent brother at a loss for words, a rare thing indeed. Raziel paced down the hall, reached the end, then turned around and paced right back the way he had come. He stopped and grabbed a hold of Melchiah's shoulders, nearly shaking his little brother.  
  
"You are serious? I can't believe-I would never imagine such a thing…this is unexpected."  
  
"It is the truth. Do you wish to see Clara? She is sleeping at the moment, so I ask you to tread lightly. Come, follow me." Melchiah lead Raziel thought his chambers and over into Clara's darkened room. Pressing a talon to his lips to indicate he wanted silence, Melchiah opened the door and both vampires ghosted in. As Melchiah proudly stood over the crib as any father would when showing their child, a grin on his features, Raziel's face showed utter shock.   
  
The rumors were true, the Clan leader thought. There, lying right in front of him and sound asleep was Melchiah's daughter Clara. Raziel leaned forwards and tentatively brushed a strand of Clara's light hair with his talon, fully expecting this to be an illusion of some sort. But the baby was as solid as he was. Melchiah, feeling that the demonstration was done, ushered Raziel out of the room and closed the door behind him. "Satisfied, dear brother?"  
  
"It is true. You do have," Raziel pointed a finger behind him at the closed door. "You are a father. But why? What is making you do this, Melchiah? It is so unexpected of you."  
  
"I do not think you would understand if I told you, Raziel. I have this need, this urge that came up from nowhere to help Clara, to love her. I know that love is a human emotion, as we have been told, but I posses that emotion all the same and if it makes me any weaker than the rest of you, then I guess it makes me weaker. I can finally care for someone who loves me in return, a pure and innocent love that I have not found anywhere else. Clara needs me as I need her. She is my child, my child Raziel. It is the greatest feeling in the whole of Nosgoth, this experience, this emotion that runs through me."  
  
Raziel ran a claw through his hair and looked at Melchiah. "You seem very strong-willed on this, Melchiah. You will not kill her, will you?" Raziel immediately regretted using that word; Melchiah's face darkened and a dangerous glint flashed through his yellow eyes. He spoke in a low tone but it conveyed volumes of emotion.  
  
"I would never, ever do such a thing, Raziel. I would tear the skin off my own back first before I would injure my own daughter. Do not even think for a moment that I would commit such an act."  
  
"I am sorry if I have angered you, Melchiah, truly I am." Raziel grinned suddenly and flipped his hair. "So does this make me an uncle of sorts?"  
  
Melchiah chuckled. "Only if you want to become one."  
  
"I believe I do. Uncle Raziel…it has a certain ring to it. Can I go and tell the other brothers, Melchiah? Can I?" Raziel's voice now possessed an almost child-like quality to it; he wanted to tell his siblings everything he had just seen. Melchiah nodded and Raziel gave one of those smiles that seemed to light up the whole room. As the eldest brother walked away with a light bounce in his step, Melchiah couldn't help but chuckle. Already it seemed that Clara was changing the once impassive Raziel into something else entirely.   
  
***  
  
The door to the room opened quickly and Raziel literally raced in, a wide grin on his face. His brothers looked up at his quickly from their poker game and waited expectantly. Walking over to Zephon, Raziel grabbed his brother and gave him a loud kiss on the forehead. "Thank the Dark Gods that your spies are right! Guess who's an uncle now!"  
  
Dumah coughed on his beer loudly while Turel gave a blank stare off into space, Rahab dropped his cards onto the floor while Zephon was trying to pry himself away from Raziel.  
  
"So the rumors were true," Rahab said. "Melchiah does have a child. Tell us more, Raziel!"  
  
"Her name's Clara and she's the sweetest thing I have ever seen. Melchiah is simply overcome with joy as I am now. I'm an uncle! I don't care if she's a human Rahab, she's simply adorable."  
  
"Look at how you're acting," Dumah spat at him. "You're being a complete idiot! Sit down and act the reserved way that you always do, Raziel. Stop this hair pulling and jumping about immediately."  
  
Raziel grinned. "I don't care. You guys have to go and see Clara when you can and then you'll understand why I am acting this way."  
  
"Then I will have to go and see this child tomorrow," Turel said. "But if you could calm back down Raziel, we have a game to finish here. For once I am actually winning." But of course the poker game was soon forgotten as Clara, this baby that Melchiah had indeed adopted as his own, took over the conversation.  
  
***  
  
Melchiah looked at the rag doll in his hands, turning it from side to side. Raziel had been fairly ecstatic; to this day Melchiah did not know what had overcome the eldest to act like that. Mayhap it was the same thing that had overcome him, to a lesser extent. Melchiah placed the rag doll back in the wardrobe, his gaze moving around the room and finally resting on a basket. Inside the woven reeds were a number of smaller items that he had not bothered to cover up; he took them out and viewed them each in turn.  
  
A necklace made of green jade.  
  
A thick book of pressed flowers.  
  
A mirror set of pure gold.  
  
A small dagger with a hilt of ivory.  
  
A diary covered in red silk.  
  
Each had it's own story behind it, each had been given to Clara in turn by his brothers. Melchiah only had to look at them and remember his brother's reactions, each individual reaction, as they had come to see Clara. Those memories were as clear as yesterday, as if they had been frozen perfectly in his mind for him to look at for all eternity.   
  
Melchiah remembered… 


	3. Chapter 3

Turel was the first to visit.   
  
Melchiah suspected as much; Turel was always the cautious one, the one who would hang back until he was sure of his course of action and had seen the mistakes caused by others, making sure not to repeat them. Melchiah had just changed Clara's diaper and was sitting with her on his sprawling veranda, now in constant use that he was with her, watching the pale sun as it tried to make itself known through the clouds. Matron ushered in the Clan lord personally, bowed, then left and at the same time tried to conceal a smile. She expected that these visits would happen frequently from now on.   
  
"Guess who has arrived!" Turel boomed, quickly stepping out onto the veranda while holding something between his hands. "Melchiah, good to see you again. And this must be your much talked about child, the little Clara!"  
  
Clara, who had been happily watching the sun and clouds go by while playing with her rag doll, began to bawl at the sound of Turel's voice, not to mention the way he had literally pressed his face in front of her's. There is only so much that a twelve-week-old infant could take. Melchiah stood up quickly and held Clara to his chest, making shushing noises while looking over at Turel who was now grinning sheepishly.  
  
"Sorry," was all Turel said as he sat down in one of the marble chairs.  
  
"I guess I know the nature of this visit," Melchiah spoke, but keeping his attention on Clara the whole time. She had finally settled back down somewhat, resting her head against Melchiah's chest and making that cooing noise to show that she was relaxed. The youngest of the Lieutenants sat back down and looked over at Turel, who was grinning from ear to ear. "What?"  
  
"Raziel was right, that child has had an effect on you. Before Melchiah you use to never come out on this veranda but now here you are, sitting almost in the sun. You have indeed changed."  
  
"Clara needs the fresh air and sunlight to help her. Any father would know that." Melchiah spoke with the air of someone who finally knew a little more than his brothers, something that they could possibly never know. "What's that?" He pointed towards the item Turel held, a simple box wrapped with a green ribbon about it.  
  
Turel smiled. "This? A present for my niece of course! I can call her that, right? My niece? Can I be an uncle like Raziel or is that position already taken?"  
  
Melchiah nodded. "If you want to, Turel, for I hold no objections if you are willing. I suppose in a way you are her uncle as you are my brother. Isn't that right Clara, now you have two uncles." Melchiah lifted Clara up so she could see Turel sitting across from her. "That's uncle Turel, daddy's second eldest brother and the practically jokester in the family."  
  
Clara gave a high-pitched squeal of delight, waving her doll about. "Ha, she approves of me already Melchiah. I won't let you down, being an uncle for her. Here Clara, uncle Turel brought you a present just for you." Melchiah took the offered box from Turel and opened it gingerly, wondering exactly what his brother could of gotten for his daughter. Hopefully not something dangerous, something that could easily cut her tender flesh or poke an eye out.   
  
At the same moment Turel plucked Clara out of Melchiah's grasp and, as he had seen his youngest brother do, held her in the similar cradling fashion. All the baby did was wave her doll in the air and look up at the new face peering down at her. "Do not worry, I will be careful with her," was all Turel said as he leaned back in his chair and made nonsense noises at his niece.  
  
"Turel, this gift is rather…extravagant," Melchiah said as he held up a complete mirror and brush set of burnished gold and looked it over. On the back of the mirror, engraved in fine script, was Clara's name. "She will not be able to use this for a while yet."  
  
"Like it matters. It is the thought that counts, dear brother, and nothing is too good for Clara, isn't that right?" Turel twisted his left hand about and a moment later a flower appeared where there had been none before. Clara giggled and made that same high-pitched squeal to show she was delighted. Always trust Turel and his magic, Melchiah thought sourly.  
  
"Raziel gave her a jade necklace from his own personally treasury, which she won't be able to wear until she is at least six years-"  
  
"Time, fleeting moments for us, Melchiah," Turel interjected as he stood and gently handed Clara back to her father. "Clara will come to enjoy these gifts in time but of course mine will always remain the best. Is that not right, Clara?"  
  
Melchiah coughed. "It seems to me that if I am not careful, you will spoil her rotten."  
  
"Why not; I am her uncle! Now I understand what Raziel was going on about." A serious tone entered Turel's voice and he turned to look away towards Nosgoth's mountain range in the distance. "I take it no other siblings have arrived yet."  
  
"No," Melchiah shook his head. "More than anything else, I am worried over Dumah's reaction. I…do not think I would trust him to be around Clara. Zephon and him both. But then I will let them come and see her, only I will be present all the time and never allow her out of my sight."  
  
Turel patted Melchiah on the back. "Come on, one look at Clara and if they had any bad intentions, they'll evaporate just like that." He snapped his talons together, at the same time producing a small dove that hopped off his hand and flew away. "Ah, so that was where that little bird went to."  
  
"Do you think so," Melchiah asked worriedly.  
  
"I know so. And if anything were to happen," Turel made a cutting motion with his hand across his throat. "I am Clara's uncle, nay, her guardian now and I will let nothing ill happen to her, Melchiah. You can be sure about that."  
  
***  
  
Dumah was the next to arrive, unannounced and walking down Melchiah's palace halls as if he owned the place. His visage was one of anger, as it always was, and from the youngest fledgling to the most veteran of vampires quickly let him pass. They had seen what Lord Dumah was capable of when angered and he looked to be in that mood already. Even Matron, who backed down from no one, could not help quail in fear at the massive vampire who towered over her by a good four feet, all lean muscle and pure strength. Dumah walked sullenly into one of the smaller kitchens of Melchiah's Clan holdings as the new father was trying to get Clara to eat some food. Already, as the wet nurse had informed Melchiah, she was beginning to teeth and needed to be weaned off milk.  
  
"So this is the little infant that everyone is muttering about," Dumah spoke. Melchiah whirled around quickly, standing protectively in front of Clara. The leader of Clan Dumahim gave something of a sarcastic smile at Melchiah. "I have arrived here and in less than five minutes you believe I would hurt your child, Melchiah. Do you think that badly of me?"  
  
"I have seen worse happen, Dumah," Melchiah spoke forcefully, not backing down. "I have seen what you have done to children and whole families with your warriors."  
  
"As have you. Step aside twerp, I want to see this brat." Dumah made a move to shove Melchiah out of his way, and was more than surprised when he found that he had been shoved back instead. Melchiah, the youngest of Kain's children, the weakest of the Lieutenants, stood over his brother who was now laid out on the ground. The look that Dumah received from Melchiah made him almost fear for his life…almost. Clara watched all of this silently while running her chubby hands through the bowl of mashed carrots, then smearing the food over her face.  
  
"She is not a brat, Dumah. She is my child and her name is Clara. You will remember that from now on or else I will make sure not only to throw you to the floor again, but on a pike hanging from the wall. Do you understand?"  
  
Dumah bared his fangs at Melchiah but nodded. He raised himself to his feet quickly and looked over at Clara, who had now dumped the whole bowl over her head and was bashing her spoon around on the table. "Is this behavior normal for human children?"  
  
"As I have been told, Dumah." Melchiah plucked the bowl off of his child's head and took the spoon from her. "And she has always managed to cause a mess every time I try and get her to eat."  
  
"Is it really worth it?"  
  
Melchiah nodded. "Every moment, brother. Every single moment spent with her." Dumah turned his head to the side thoughtfully as he watched Melchiah try and clean up Clara's face as best as he could while the baby decided that drooling on her father's shoulder was a new past time she enjoyed. "Do you want to hold her?"   
  
Dumah blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected Melchiah to offer such a thing; if anything Dumah expected him to rush out of the room with his baby and call the guards on his older brother. But Dumah was a warrior and warriors were never afraid of trying out new things, even if it meant holding a human baby with mashed carrots covering her face. "Very well." Melchiah showed Dumah how to hold Clara properly then gave her over. Gingerly Dumah held the baby, thinking that he might hurt her if he held her just the wrong way ever so slightly. The sullen look was soon gone and replaced with a ghost of smile on Dumah's black lips as he bounced Clara around in his arms.  
  
"Ha, this does not seem so difficult as I was led to believe, Melchiah. Why even I could-" Dumah was cut off in mid-sentence as Clara, stomach unhappy with the jostling around, decided to heave most of her food onto Dumah's Clan banner and his chest. Dumah silently handed Clara back over to her father and sat down with as much dignity as he could maintain, cleaning himself off with a rag. Clara burbled something and gave a laugh; Melchiah waited for the inevitable explosion that was sure to come from his strongest brother.  
  
It never came.   
  
Instead, much to his surprise, Dumah began to laugh. "Well, I suppose I had that coming, didn't I Melchiah? That child has to hold in her food better or else I will never be able to teach her to ride a warhorse."  
  
"Excuse me?" Melchiah looked at Dumah as his brother wiped off the last of the mess on his banner.  
  
"Teach her how to ride a warhorse, sibling. Clara will need to learn that when she is older, as well as weapons training which I will provide since I am the most capable out of all the brethren. Nowadays one must protect themselves and I would be the best teacher for Clara. That is, unless you do not want my aid in her upbringing. Why do you seem so shocked?"  
  
Melchiah stammered something quickly. "I-I just did not think that you…you cared or wanted to be associated with her in any way, Dumah. Turel and Raziel both believe that you do not have what it takes to be a, how should one put this delicately, a caregiver."  
  
"Turel and Raziel thought that, huh?" Dumah's features contorted into something like rage and his talons balled into fists; with an obvious effort of will he calmed himself and looked at Clara. "She has a weak father who would not be able to tell her the difference between a sword and a spear. I, on the other hand, will be able to train her in hand-to-hand combat, riding, archery and anything else that might be needed in this day and age for one to properly protect themselves. But if you do not approve Melchiah, then I will be on my way."  
  
Dumah stood to leave; Melchiah jumped to his feet and blocked the door. He looked at Dumah and Dumah looked back at him impassively. Why is he offering me this, Melchiah wondered. He has come here and openly insulted me, but that is nothing new when it's Dumah. Now he is offering, in his own twisted sense, a form of protection for my child who not three minutes ago decided that throwing up her lunch at him was the best thing in the whole world. Squaring his shoulders and looking up at his brother's strong form, Melchiah nodded. "If you want to train her when she is older Dumah, then you have my permission."  
  
"Good, I was hoping that you would say that and that I have not made a wasted visit. Here, give this to Clara. She is still too young to use it properly, but that will all change within a few years." Unclipping an ivory dagger from his belt, Dumah handed it over to Melchiah and brushed past him roughly. He turned around quickly as he exited the kitchen, the sullen look now dominating his features again as he spoke. "I suppose this makes me an uncle to her now, am I right?"   
  
All Melchiah could do was nod.   
  
"Excellent," the older and more powerful Lieutenant said to himself more than to Melchiah. He was soon gone, leaving the Clan Lord weak-kneed. Sitting back down in his chair, the father looked over at Clara who had somehow managed to recover the spoon taken from her and tapping out a rhythm on the table.  
  
"You are so much trouble, Clara," Melchiah spoke happily. "So much trouble."  
  
***  
  
Rahab held Clara in his lap and bounced her on his knee while he looked over at Melchiah, who was leafing through the massive book of pressed flowers Rahab had given to his daughter as a present. "So when she does need a tutor, I will happily apply for the position, dear brother. I can teach Clara everything, music to history, mathematics and even the archaic sciences. She already has quite a mind for detail, as I have seen, and that should not go wasted. And I made that book all by myself as well, a veritable encyclopedia of Nosgoth's flowers, alphabetically placed and with both their original and vampire names underneath."  
  
Melchiah closed the massive tome and looked over at his brother. "You know that I would always come to you first and foremost for Clara's education, Rahab. You need not try and convince me when I already am. You will make a fine teacher for her when she is old enough, as well as an uncle."  
  
The leader of Clan Rahabim nodded and gave a smile, then tried to pull his hair out of Clara's strong grasp. "So there was no doubt in your mind. Tell me, how many uncles does little Clara have now?"  
  
"Raziel, Turel, Dumah and now you, Rahab. Frankly I am rather happy that she will have so many looking out for her well-being, should the need ever arise. Even Clara approves of you all. But it seems to me that I must be careful or else I will have no daughter to speak of soon; you will all of spoiled her and carted her away to your Clan holdings."  
  
Rahab gave a mock look of surprise. "Me? Never Melchiah. She was placed at your doorstep for a reason, what that may be we will never know, but she is your daughter. But she is my only niece and I promise by the Soul Reaver and the Wheel of Nosgoth that I will look after her."  
  
"I know you will, Rahab," Melchiah replied gently. "You all will…save Zephon."  
  
"What has made you bring him into the conversation, brother?"  
  
Melchiah sighed and shook his head, looking at Clara contemplatively. "It has been over three weeks, but he has not come by at all. Not that I truly expected him to, but then again I thought that Zephon being Zephon he would want to see Clara."  
  
Rahab snorted. "Zephon and his Clan keep to themselves. We can go for weeks and months at a time without seeing him and then he will just show up out of the blue. You know how he is, Melchiah. Frankly, I believe he is jealous of Clara."  
  
"How can he be envious of her? My daughter is only a mere baby, completely harmless to him."  
  
"Well, here is the deal. You, dear younger brother, are taking care of a child and now no longer have the time to be scared of Zephon and what he might do to you. He now believes that all because of Clara, you might be developing the proverbial backbone that was, no offense, not there before Melchiah. It is that or perhaps he is just waiting for the proper moment to introduce himself to Clara, that and finding or making the perfect gift to give to her."  
  
Both Rahab and Melchiah laughed; Clara joined in even if she did not understand one word of the conversation. "Well, I hope he is working on a gift of some sort Rahab, I really do. Even I am beginning to miss him, even if I never thought I would hear myself say that."   
  
"I have to leave now," Rahab handed Clara back to Melchiah as he stood. "But I am glad to know that you have placed your trust in me with your daughter's well-being, and it is a trust that will not be lost. That I can assure you, Melchiah."  
  
Melchiah stood and followed his brother to the main entrance of his palace; Rahab like Melchiah came out during the nighttime, the touch of sunlight on his sensitive skin hurting nearly as much as it did for his young brother. Both embraced warmly, Clara grabbing onto Rahab's hair again and making him laugh as she gave a sad look when he departed. She waved to him, copying her father's gesture as her newest uncle disappeared into the night.  
  
***  
  
"There you are," Zephon's voice came from above Melchiah as he strolled through his gardens with Clara in his arms. The vampire lord looked up and spied Zephon sitting down on one of the many marble statues that littered the garden labyrinth; Clara's face was filled with surprise as, from her point of view, the strange being jumped down easily to the ground in front of them. "Well, well. I have been looking all over for you, Melchiah, and let me tell you for once it had not been easy."  
  
"What do you want," Melchiah spoke softly, instantly on the defensive. He transferred Clara from his right arm to his left and flexed his claw slightly. The movement was not lost to Zephon, who's thin but powerful form was framed by the moonlight.  
  
"What else, Melchiah? To see Clara, which I have heard so much about from the rest of my brothers. They have all been taken in by her quite easily, even Dumah. If such a thing could be done, then this child must be something indeed. And here I am to pay my respects to a new father and his infant." Zephon gave a tiny wave to Clara, who was unnaturally quiet. "And I have brought a gift to, in the hopes that perhaps I can be an uncle to her as well."  
  
Zephon produced from his tunic a simple diary, covered in red silk and handed it over to Melchiah. The clasp was made of silver and carved in the form of a unicorn. "A diary for Clara, so that when she is older she can record her innermost thoughts and dreams. A human thing, I know, but it seems to fitting for her. I made it myself."  
  
"And how fitting that someone like you would make such a thing."  
  
"Oh, I am hurt, dear brother. So, do I get the position?" Zephon eyed Melchiah expectantly as both stood in the gardens. Melchiah looked at his daughter's expression; he had learned that Clara at even at this young age was a good judge of character. Clara reached out a chubby hand that Zephon touched slightly, and then he in turn gave a smile of sorts as Clara grabbed onto his hand and squeezed it. She looked at her father and cooed happily while she settled back into the crook of his arm.  
  
"It seems that Clara likes you already and if your motives are pure," Melchiah trailed off as he narrowed his eyes and looked at Zephon. "But I do not know if I can trust you."  
  
"What do you mean by that? I know you and everyone else expect me to hurt Clara but I would do no such thing, just as you would not, Melchiah. Your own words as I recall. I want to be part of this 'uncle' thing one-way or the other and I will find a way. Look, I know we have never been close and for many reasons, but I want to…" Zephon flicked a hand through his spiked hair as he searched for the correct word. "I want to help raise Clara, if you want and will accept my help. I think that if you have made Dumah an uncle to her then I at least deserve half a chance, even if she is a human baby."  
  
Melchiah considered what Zephon had just said. For once in his life, he could decide something that Zephon had no power over; Melchiah held all the cards in his hands. He was tempted to say no, that Zephon should leave and never return to bother him and Clara, but something else told Melchiah that he would regret it and that Clara would lose someone who actually seemed for the first time in his life to care about someone. With a short nod of his head, Melchiah spoke.  
  
"Yes, you can be Clara's uncle. I trust you." The smile that came over Zephon's dark features even made Melchiah feel good in the depths of his soul.   
  
"You will not regret this, Melchiah," Zephon spoke excitedly. Then he realized the way he was beginning to act was like Raziel and calmed down, trying to remain dignified. He looked over at Clara. "And I will teach you everything that I know Clara, from climbing walls to hanging upside down from ceilings, if your father will allow me."  
  
"Time will be the judge of that, Zephon. Either way, it is Clara's bedtime so we must be leaving you." Melchiah turned to leave, but not before Zephon stepped in front of him and placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. The Clan lord was becoming annoyed ever so slightly. "What?"  
  
"You have told father, right?"  
  
"No, but I am sure that he already knows Zephon. Clara will come with me when the Clans have to meet once again at the Sanctuary. There I will officially introduce her to Kain and officially announce her as my daughter just in case any vampire has missed it the first time. Surprisingly I am not worried in the slightest."  
  
Zephon nodded. "And there will be five brothers standing beside you all the way, Melchiah. Until next time." Zephon took his leave of Melchiah, climbing up one of the hedgerows with ease and dashing along the stonewall back to his own Clan holdings. Clara burbled something up at her father as she pointed at Zephon's retreating form.  
  
"Yes, he is a little weird, Clara. But give him half a chance and I am sure he will be a good uncle. And now it is time for you to sleep." Melchiah gave her a fond kiss on the forehead as they headed back to the palace.  
  
***  
  
Yes, Melchiah reflected, he had been unafraid when he had presented Clara to Kain, the emperor of all of Nosgoth. He had been aware that Kain could have easily crushed her and Melchiah could of done nothing at all, but Kain's reaction had been unexpected to say the least. Placing the items back into the basket, Melchiah shoved it under the bed and looked around the room, wiping another tear from his eye. So many memories in this one room for one lifetime. He walked over to the bureau and opened one of the drawers, pulling out with the greatest of care a bunch of papers rolled up tightly and tied with a yellow cord.  
  
Clara's drawings.  
  
Melchiah unrolled them one by one and looked them over, smiling all the while. Yes, he could recall the very day that he had taken Clara for the first time to the Sanctuary of the Clans, when Kain had summoned all of his sons to see how their respective parts in his empire were moving along, how they were managing their roles and time. In fact, one of these drawings tied into that special day, if only Melchiah could find it… 


	4. Chapter 4

"Aha, I knew that this one was here," Melchiah spoke to himself as he laid his eyes on one of Clara's old drawings. The parchment was yellowed around the edges, but the illustration and the colours used remained fresh and bright. Drawn on the paper in a childish hand was a small picture of Lord Kain himself. It was in no way as magnificent as some of the portraits that Kain had commissioned, but Melchiah found that this drawing captured his father's personality better than those so-called artists. It showed Kain sitting down in his throne, the Soul Reaver in one claw and a glass in the other. Instead of the usual scowl he wore there was a ghost of a smile there instead; not intentionally put in but because Kain had actually smiled for this drawing. Clara had made it herself when she had come to the Sanctuary for the first time and had handed it to the master vampire, bashfully smiling the whole time.  
  
If Melchiah closed his eyes, he could remember the fear he felt as he rode up to the Sanctuary with his small entourage behind him. His heart had been beating fast that day even if he did not let the stress show on his face. Clara had only just turned one year old; she could already walk and say a few words and, Melchiah remembered, had been given to go into fits of laughter for no reason whatsoever. He feared for her life on that day, a fear that he was sure only he as a father would of felt for his child and no other. Kain had most likely found out about Clara but waited for Melchiah to step forwards with her. Oh yes, Melchiah had wanted to run away with Clara in his arms, to hide and keep her safe, but his duty to his father was also strong and in the end, duty won out…  
  
***  
  
"Uncle Raziel!" Clara shouted, waving her hand, Melchiah holding the other as they both walked down the long hall. Raziel, who had been talking with one of his officers, turned around quickly and gave a big smile as he saw his youngest brother and niece. Melchiah let go of Clara so she could run to her uncle; he gave a wistful smile. His daughter was robed in a simple yellow dress; her fair-hair, which he had let grow long, was braided up and pinned with a few flowers. Clara's shoes beat out a steady rhythm as she made her way to Raziel; for a moment she lost her balance and Melchiah's heart leapt into his throat, but Raziel was there and had picked her up before she fell to the floor.  
  
"Hello, Clara! You have grown since I have last seen you," Raziel said, giving her a hug. "How have you been?"  
  
"Good, good," she chirped. "Daddy has been too!" Raziel nodded and placed his niece back down on the floor and watched her walk back to Melchiah. The youngest of the Lieutenants picked her up and held her easily in his arms as he and Raziel walked down the Sanctuary of the Clans. Raziel waved away his officers when they tried to follow; he wanted his privacy with his immediate family whom he hadn't seen in a long time. Clara still held her precious rag doll in both hands and looked with quiet interest at the new palace she was in. Melchiah pointed out the gardens and large pieces of artwork that adored the halls when they passed by them and while his daughter was wrapped up in her own world, turned to Raziel.  
  
"I am afraid, brother."  
  
Raziel turned his eyes from a dark painting and studied Melchiah. "You needn't be afraid here, dear brother. Clara will be safe here too for while I am-"  
  
"I am afraid for her very life, Raziel." Melchiah's quiet voice took on a tinge of panic. "I have brought her here because I know Kain already knows of her, but that father wanted me to make the first move, which is expected. What if father decides to hurt Clara, to - to kill my baby? What will happen then? I don't want Clara to die, but I cannot do anything if Kain decrees her existence to be harmful to every vampire around here. What if-" Raziel placed a restraining hand on Melchiah's shoulder and calmly took Clara from him and placed his niece down on the ground.  
  
Clara looked up at her father and saw the look of fear on his pale face. "Daddy, what's the matter?"  
  
"Clara, could you do something for me," Raziel asked, kneeling down beside her. The child nodded. Raziel smiled. "I want you to close your eyes and place your hands over your ears and start humming really loudly, okay? And don't stop until I tap you on the head. Start now." Clara did just that, pressing her chubby hands to her ears and humming away the whole time as her father and uncle moved a small way off. Melchiah's breathing had begun to come in deep gasps and Raziel was worried that his youngest sibling was in danger of passing out. It was a dark miracle so far that Melchiah hadn't, considering the pressure and stress he was facing here.  
  
"Melchiah, listen to me and listen well. When I made that pledge over a year ago to protect Clara no matter what, I will do everything in my power to honour it. Even if it means defying Kain. But I am his first-born son and as such I know what he will do even before he does anything. I am sure father will not lay one talon on her; suffice to say that he will not even look in her direction. Clara also has four other uncles who will look out for her; even Zephon and that still comes as a surprise to me. So be still. Nothing is written in stone." Raziel patted Melchaih on the back and watched his breathing deepen and become stronger, less agitated. The father looked back at his child, who was still happily humming away and looking at a few of the human servants passing by her. "Now I think we should go and find the rest of our brethren and let them see Clara before the meeting with Lord Kain."  
  
Clara was singing a song about a cow jumping over the moon when Raziel tapped her on the head. She stopped humming immediately and grabbed onto her father's leg, not letting go. "Daddy," she said as Melchiah picked her up and placed her on his back, "I love you," then gave him one of the biggest hugs and kisses that a one-year-old possibly could give to her father.  
  
***  
  
Kain's cold eyes passed over his six sons, standing in a semi-circle about his throne, their backs straight and staring ahead. He held the Soul Reaver easily in one claw and watched it glow slightly for a moment, then turned his sight upwards. The ruined Pillars seemed to look gravely at the vampires, foreboding to Melchiah personally. His gaze kept going to the ruined Pillar of Death until he turned away shivering, only to be drawn back to it once again. The youngest Lieutenant stood beside Rahab and glanced in his brother's direction. The fourth born did not meet his stare but looked at the stone floor instead as if finding something interesting in the mosaic drawings. The silence that filled the chamber was oppressive and Melchiah felt that at any moment he would crack. Perhaps he would, that he would run from this room, grab Clara and make for the safety of his Clan Territories.   
  
Then what?   
  
What would happen after that?  
  
Remember what Raziel said. Nothing is written in stone, Melchiah thought to himself. Be calm, keep your head on your shoulders.  
  
"Melchiah," Kain's voice broke the stillness of the throne room and made the vampire jump. "It has come to my attention that you have, as of last year, brought in under your wing a young human. A baby girl, to be exact, and that you have every intention of raising her as your own. Is this the truth?" The master vampire's eyes, ones that had seen the rise and fall of empires, who had seen people cut down in horrid ways, pierced into Melchaih's. A subtle shift in emotions changed in the room; tension mounted. Dumah, standing next to Rahab, stepped forwards slightly and stopped when he caught himself doing so.  
  
Licking his dry lips, Melchiah nodded. "Yes father, that is the truth."  
  
Kain rested his chin on his claw and gave something of a smile. "How fascinating and amusing. Do go on; tell me more."  
  
Closing his eyes for a few moments to calm the beating of his undead heart, Melchiah reached within him and pulled on that inner strength that he knew he possessed. What he said now could well count for his precious daughter's very life. "About a year ago to this date, I found a newborn child at the doorsteps of my palace. She was near death but…but I took her in and gave her life when I could of taken it from her." Melchiah glanced quickly over in Raziel's direction, and seeing the encouraging smile on his brother's face, continued. "It was my choice and my choice alone to raise this human as my own. Her name is Clara and she is my daughter, if not by blood then by the name, the love and the caring that I have given her over the past year."  
  
"How noble," the musing tone in Kain's commanding voice was unexpected. "Tell me, do you place her above and beyond the rest of your 'children' in your Clan, my youngest son?"  
  
"Yes, Sire," Melchiah spoke quickly, then said, "no. I - I do not know." Kain laughed and stood. Placing the Soul Reaver on his back, the father of all vampires walked around the base of the ruined Pillar of Balance, then towards Melchiah.  
  
"It is not an easy thing to decide; fatherhood Melchiah. I have six sons but I know where to place you all, I know where you all stand. But how can you decide if your human child is above and beyond the rest of your children? She does not bear the Dark Gift; she does not contain any of your essence in her. Think for a moment, reflect on why you call her your child to begin with."  
  
Turel coughed politely and stepped forwards. "Father, I hardly see how this can-" Kain raised a claw and pointed it at Turel.  
  
"You were not asked to speak, Turel. Know your place and hold your tongue until I ask for your opinion." The second eldest bowed his head and muttered an apology, angry at being told to keep mute. Melchiah thought for what seemed to him an eternity; Kain's presence was a constant weight in the back of his mind, an ache that would not go away. And Melchiah also felt the rising panic from his brothers, at their own inability to help him when they wanted to. Zephon shifted and fidgeted uncomfortably. Dumah flexed his arm muscles. Rahab continued to stare at the floor, but his hands were pressed together until it looked like they would break under the strain. Turel was tapping one cloven foot on the floor. And Raziel was staring off into the distance.  
  
Melchiah's head snapped up and for the first time in his life he looked squarely into Kain's eyes; when he spoke there was no quiver of fear, no doubt. The Clan Lord had set both feet upon the path and would walk it until he reached the end. "I am the weakest of my brothers, Sire. I know this and accept this fate for what it is. My Clan is not as strong as the Razielim or the Dumahim, but we always manage to survive no matter what. When I held Clara for the first time in my arms, I felt this need to protect her, to save this being who could not protect herself from death. Some might call this a weakness, a mercy that I should not give to a mere human. But I see this as strength. While I do have children that were once humans but are now much more, Clara is different from them. I cannot raise my 'children' as they are already grown, or give them this love as I have given to Clara. I will raise Clara and she has become closer to me than my vampire children." Clearing his throat, Melchiah spoke the last few words with such emotion that Kain could only nod in agreement. "She is my child, my own personal child that I have raised with devotion and love. Yes, I place her above and beyond my other children and will always do so until the day comes that I die."  
  
Silence.   
  
It was even more repressive than the silence from before. Melchiah breathed out quickly; he had finished walking the path and now all he could do was wait and see what was at the end. Kain walked back to his throne and sat down in it, placing the Soul Reaver across his lap. Holding onto the hilt of the twisting blade, the ruler of Nosgoth snapped his claws.  
  
"Send for the child." The massive double doors of the throne room opened and Clara, standing with one of Melchiah's officers, was quickly led inside. Clara held in her hands her rag doll and some paper, which was rolled up tightly. For the first time in her life she had a serious expression on her face; at such a tiny age it seemed she understood the gravity of the situation she was in. The officer led her quickly over to Lord Melchiah, bowed and then left the hall, careful to close the doors behind him completely. Clara did not look up at her uncles as she passed them, nor looked up at her father as he took her gently by the hand and led her to stand in front of Kain.  
  
"Father, this is my daughter Clara," Melchiah's voice rang loud and clear, the pride evident in his voice. Clara, as small as she was, seemed to be more than she was for a few moments. She raised her cherub face and looked at Kain, the ruler of all Nosgoth, the master of all vampires, and smiled. Letting go of Melchiah's hand, Clara did something of a curtsey as she had seen other women do, and then quickly walked forwards, her shoes beating out the steady rhythm. Kain cocked his head to one side, unsure what to make of this young human. She had at least been taught proper manners. Clara took the paper that was rolled up and handed it to Kain, who took it from her quickly. As he unrolled it, face hidden behind the parchment, the Lieutenants tried to look at what their father was seeing without seeming obvious. Kain lowered the parchment and looked at Clara, giving his coldest face possible. The child only looked at him and continued to smile.  
  
"I made it for you, grandfather," she chirped suddenly. "Pretty, right?" Melchiah tensed as Kain leaned forwards; ready to toss Clara out of harm's way if his father decided to kill her just for saying those words. Instead Kain chuckled and turned the picture that Clara had drawn of him in ink, if rather crudely, for everyone else to see. It showed a small and deformed Kain holding the Soul Reaver in one hand, even if it did look like a stick, and in the other a glass of wine. He was sitting on his throne with a crudely drawn smile on his face. Zephon snickered slightly, and then fell silent from the rough poke he received from Dumah in his ribs.  
  
"Yes Clara, I do believe that this is a very pretty picture of myself." He turned to look at Melchiah. "I hope you know what you are doing, Melchiah. Clara seems like a fine child so far, and perhaps…perhaps she could be the beginning of something new for everyone. This meeting is adjourned." Placing the Soul Reaver on his back, Kain left the throne room and disappeared down one of the halls to attend to other business all the while holding the picture in his claws with something akin to covetousness.   
  
Turel let out a long sigh, as did Raziel and Rahab. "For a moment there, I thought-"  
  
"Well it did not happen," Rahab cut in quickly. "Best to not think such thoughts." He looked at Clara's smiling face, then at the pale and waxen form of Melchiah. "Grandfather?" All Melchiah could do was nod once, weakly, just before he fainted from everything that had happened to him.  
  
***  
  
"Grandfather," Melchiah chuckled to himself. "Grandfather Kain; who would of every thought of it?" The door to Clara's room creaked open and Melchiah looked up quickly to see that it was Dumah standing in the doorframe. The massive vampire seemed surprise to see Melchiah in the room, but he walked in all the same.  
  
"I thought I was the only one that came here," he spoke gruffly. Dumah saw the pictures and nodded. He did not get along with Melchiah; their feuding was famous amongst all the Clans, but there were times when they could put it aside and leave well enough alone. Now was one of those times. "Reminiscing?" Melchiah nodded as he rolled the drawings back up and tied the ribbon about the ancient parchment. Dumah walked around the wide bedroom, idly placing a hand on a stack of books or looking in the mirror. He began to quietly laugh at something, arms folded across his chest.  
  
"What is so amusing," Melchiah demanded.  
  
"Oh, I was just thinking when Clara first came to me, to begin her warrior training. By the dark gods, that was a long time ago. Do you remember, little brother?" Melchiah shook his head. He did not remember much of the training Dumah had given her in the arts of war, other than that most days she would come home tired and every fiber in her body aching, complaining that she wanted to sleep and nothing more. "Well, I remember. She had talent, Clara did. From my niece I expected no less." Dumah pounded a fist into his opened hand. "She rose above and beyond my instructions. Do you recall those days, Melchiah?"  
  
The youngest of the brothers smiled and shook his head. "No. Refresh my memory for me, Dumah." The stronger vampire chuckled; already those memories came flooding back to him as if they happened yesterday.  
  
"By the dark gods, those were the days." 


	5. Chapter 5

"No, that is not the way to draw a sword!" Dumah's voice thundered across the empty courtyard, making Clara drop the small short sword she held in her gloved hands. The girl, face streaked with dirt and sweat, turned to look at her uncle as he walked towards her. Clara was dressed in a simple tunic and breeches, her feet bare and covered from head to toe in dust. The look that crossed her uncle's face made the six-year-old want to both quake in fear and at the same time look at him in defiance. She had been practicing for over three turns from the hourglass and now that uncle Dumah had found something that displeased him in her routine, Clara would most likely spend the next two turns of the hourglass with more training.  
  
"What did I do wrong now, uncle Dumah," Clara asked plaintively as the Clan Lord stood over her. Dumah folded his arms across his massive chest and gave a deep frown.  
  
"The way you are drawing a sword, Clara. In the time you pull it from the scabbard, someone would have already lopped off your own head," he growled.  
  
"But it's so heavy," she began to whine. "And I'm not as fast as you are or as strong." Clara felt like she was going to cry from frustration, but she held the tears back. She did not want to appear weak in front of an uncle that she knew was strong; she wanted to be as strong as him.  
  
Dumah took the short sword from Clara and held it easily in one talon. "No excuses, Clara, and no whining. That is weak and warriors are not weak. Only through training and diligent practice will you be able to wield a sword, and then you can become a master of the blade."  
  
"Like you?" Clara looked up at her uncle who was framed in the light of the rising moon. Practice for her had begun before the sun had set and it would continue until Dumah was satisfied with her progress. It had been this way since Clara had turned six, only two weeks ago. Her training had begun the day immediately following her birthday and would not let up until she was over twenty seasons old. She had no time to play now with her friends but when she thought of it, Clara would have rather spent more time in the training halls than anywhere else. If it hadn't been for the constant reminders from her uncle, then Clara would never have gone home to her father…and that had happened more times than not.  
  
Dumah knelt down until he was eye to eye with his niece. Clara looked him straight in the eye, never away, and placed her hands on her hips. While some other humans would flinch from the powerful Lord of Clan Dumahim, Clara didn't and she prided herself in that. But then she knew she was not like other humans, that she had been blessed. Dumah chuckled and handed the sword back to Clara. "Yes, one day you might be able to match my skills with the blade, but until that day comes you must-"  
  
"Practice," Clara finished without much enthusiasm.   
  
"Yes."  
  
The little girl looked up at the vampire lord. "Might I be able to take a break for a few moments, uncle Dumah?" She put on her most pitiful expression, which wasn't hard to do at all. Dumah had fallen for it more than once, and the only uncle that Clara's puppy dog expression had no effect on was Zephon. The vampire gave a grunt of acknowledgement and Clara happily moved towards the door that led into the training halls, away from the silent courtyard. Dumah followed and noticed cynically that Clara couldn't be all that tired if she was skipping and jumping around.  
  
Clara's eyes adjusted quickly from the near-twilight outside to the harsh glare of torches along the walls. Her uncle Dumah's home was so different from her father's; Melchiah's chambers extended deep underground while Dumah's rose into the skies in the forms of steep battlements and winding staircases. Sometimes Clara felt a bit of fear whenever she walked along the parapets, but of course she never showed it, at least when she was with her uncle Dumah. Walking over to a bucket of water in a corner of the room that had been placed there just for her, Clara stripped off her gloves and dunked both her head and hands in. She pulled her head back out and laughed, then shook her hands, which caused the water to spray across the room.  
  
"Watch it, Clara," Dumah warned her. She turned to see him sitting down on the only bench in the room, spears and javelins lined on racks on the wall behind him. On the opposite wall hung a few battleaxes, too heavy for Clara to ever lift. Only a vampire would be capable of holding them. The door Clara and Dumah had come through led straight down a narrow hall to more practice rooms, albeit not as big as the one she was standing in. "When I bring you back to your father, he will accuse me of trying to drown you, Clara. You look like something that was pulled out of the river."  
  
"My daddy won't hurt you, uncle Dumah." Clara sat down next to the Clan Lord and squeezed the excess water out of her blond hair. "If he leaves me here with you, then that has to mean he trusts you."  
  
The simplicity of the sentence that Clara spoke unnerved Dumah. His feelings for humans generally remained the same; they were cattle and only good as feed for vampires. But Clara, although human, was different from them. She was so much smarter than the other rabble…why it was as if she was more vampire than human, even if she had not been bitten. Sometimes Dumah forgot this and shook his head wryly. A warrior must always be on guard but Clara, for such a young age, had a way of putting him off balance. Or maybe because she is my niece and I am fond of her, Dumah thought.  
  
"Uncle Dumah, will you be able to spar with me?" Clara stood up and hefted her short sword in both hands, standing in a defensive position. "You know, just for fun?"  
  
Dumah quirked an eyebrow and grinned, showing his fangs. "You do realize that the chances of you beating me are not very good, child." His chest swelled with pride when he saw Clara nod. Like a true warrior, she knew the odds and wouldn't back down. Why hadn't she arrived on his doorstep instead of his weakling brother Melchiah's? "Very well then, but if you start crying when you get hit…"  
  
"I won't," she piped. Clara backed into the center of the room, looking from the corners of her eyes to make sure nothing would get into her way. She then waited with feigned patience as Dumah looked at the weapons along the walls. He finally decided on a spear with the tip smooth on one side, the other cruelly barbed. The shaft was made of solid oak and looked worn, but still capable of crunching bone. Whirling the spear over his head, Dumah gripped it in both hands and faced Clara, legs braced apart and leaning forwards slightly.  
  
"Begin," was all he said. Clara ducked to the left, her bare feet moving across the stone floor quickly, and then charged towards her uncle with the short sword raised out in front of her. Dumah easily moved to the side and Clara passed him by; the Clan Lord whacked her on the back with the butt end of his speak. Clara, instead of falling to the ground full on the face, managed to turn the fall into a shoulder roll and came back up quickly, her damp hair covering her eyes. Dumah grunted with pride, she had picked up the basic skills quickly and it looked like she would be ready to head into the more advanced classes within a month or two.  
  
Dumah feinted to the right, then jabbed his spear down low and to the middle, looking to impale Clara in the stomach. Of course he would hold when it all came down to it, but the point of this sparring was to make Clara believe it would be real, for when you were out on the battlefield fantasy became reality all too quickly. The girl blocked the blow with her sword, the impact jarring her arms and nearly making her lose her hold of the weapon. The vampire lord pulled back, and Clara charged head first towards her uncle as he expected. She gave her own miniature war cry, which in Dumah's opinion needed to be worked on, but he said nothing. Dumah tried to slide out of the way again, but Clara had actually planned on that move and, ducking low, pierced Dumah in the left ankle.  
  
He swore profoundly and twisted away from Clara and she rolled along the ground until she had her back up to the wall. She leaned against the stonewall, her face red from exertion but also from surprise. She had actually managed to nick her uncle. It wasn't much and more than anything else it had probably been luck, but she would brag about this to her father and he would defiantly be pleased. Dumah, on the other hand, was considering that Clara should be moved up into the advanced classes come tomorrow and that he would give her a dull sword.  
  
"I win," Clara shouted out suddenly, a large smile lighting up her face. "I win, I win, I win against you uncle Dumah! I-" The little girl didn't say anything else. Dumah's spear slashed through the air quickly, connecting with Clara's short sword and knocking it from her small hand. The blade spun through the air and landed near the opened doorway. It was too far for Clara to run to and even if she tried then Dumah would strike her with his spear. She looked at her uncle's face, which was an expressionless mask. His spear tip was a hand's breath from her throat, unwavering. Clara gulped and looked at her uncle Dumah.  
  
"I don't win," was all she could say at the moment.  
  
The Clan Lord straightened and went back to place the spear on the wall. The cut Clara had given him was already healed and there was no sight of blood. Dumah turned to look at Clara as she went to retrieve her short sword and placed it in the scabbard. "Now, what do you think you did wrong, Clara?" Dumah stood immobile, waiting for a response.  
  
Clara shuffled her feet and wiped a grimy hand across her forehead, leaving a black streak. "I…I became overconfident, uncle Dumah." She cast her eyes downwards, wishing that she could crawl into one of the cracks and hide away. "And that was why I lost. It won't happen again."  
  
Dumah nodded. "Good. You are learning. And it takes time. Now twenty laps around the courtyard, then you can go home."  
  
"Oh, uncle Dumah," the whine was back in her voice.  
  
"Go." The command he gave his niece was the same he issued to his warriors, binding and unbreakable. With a sulky look to her face, Clara walked out of the training room and began to run laps around the large and still empty courtyard. Dumah leaned against the wall, turning his gaze from time to time to the moon above, which hung as a crescent in the dark sky. His yellow eyes followed Clara's shadowed form as she completed her tenth lap; strain was showing on her face but all she did was press her lips in a line and continued to run. For a six year old, she was so mature.  
  
"You will make a find warrior, Clara. And you do your uncle proud," Dumah whispered to himself.  
  
***  
  
"I cannot believe that I actually let you do that to her," Melchiah grumbled slightly. "But then, she was boasting as much as you did when she came back home, saying she had managed to cut you." Dumah folded his arms across his chest and shifted uncomfortable, thinking Melchiah was silently laughing at him. He was, but there wasn't much he could do.  
  
"Well, I have to leave, sibling. Until I see you again." Dumah gave a brief nod, then flicked his cape over his shoulder and left the chamber just as quickly as he had entered it. Melchiah thought he saw a look of happiness cross his older brother's rock-like face; some memories once brought back up to the surface could be very entertaining. A shuffling noise out in the hall made Melchiah look up and there, standing in the doorway with a book in one hand and fixing his glasses with the other was Rahab. The scholarly brother gave a slight smile and walked in.  
  
"And here I thought this room would be vacant," Rahab mused. "Reminiscing, Melchiah? Is it turning into one of those days?" He looked at a collection of books that lined one of the walls, nodding his head as he recognized some of the titles.  
  
"Yes, Rahab. Dumah had just finished telling me…well, when Clara first began training with him. It's weird, is it not?" Melchiah's voice took on a quiet tone. "The different memories that we all have of Clara?"   
  
Rahab sensed the sudden change of atmosphere in the room. He did not want to add to Melchiah's dark mood, which he could see was growing darker by the moment and he did not need logic from a book to tell him such. Sitting down on the bed beside his youngest brother, Rahab opened up the tome he was carrying and began to chuckle. "Well, if you do not mind, then I would like to sit here and reminisce with you." He took his glasses off and polished them with his clan banner, then placed them back on. "You do not mind, do you?"  
  
Melchiah shook his head. "I do not mind. It…helps me."  
  
"Well then, do you recall Clara when she was stuck with me in my dreary, boring library and I tried to teach her the finer points of knowledge?"  
  
"It was never boring for her," Melchiah protested.  
  
"Hah! She was a child and it was boring for her, even if she did not want to admit it because she did not want to hurt her favorite uncle's feelings. But she was bright; I give you that much, Melchiah. Oh, Clara learned much with me and put it all to good use, even if she, and begging your pardon on this Melchiah, fought me every step of the way." Rahab saw Melchiah smile a little and felt the mood in the room lighten somewhat. "Oh yes, she put her hard won knowledge to good use indeed…" 


	6. Chapter 6

Rahab's back was to Clara; he was writing key points in the history of Nosgoth when the first piece of paper hit him in the back of the neck. Pausing, he turned around slowly from the blackboard with a serious, no-nonsense expression on his face and stared at the only other person in the room. He knew what Clara was going to say.  
  
"I didn't do it," the eight-year-old girl giggled, covering a mischievous smile with her hands. Sitting down at a mahogany desk in Rahab's massive library that was lit by a few lanterns and candles, the top was covered with books both opened and closed, as well as yellowed scrolls that contained sagas he had instructed her to read. Clara swung her legs from the chair that was a bit too tall for her and tried to give her uncle the most innocent look she could muster.  
  
"Since there is no one else in the room, Clara, logic dictates that it was you and only you who threw it at me." She shook her head, yellow curls that came down to her shoulders bobbing.  
  
"No, it wasn't me at all, uncle Rahab."  
  
The Clan Lord folded his arms over his chest and looked down at his niece over the bridge of his spectacles. "Oh, really? Then tell me who exactly?"   
  
Twisting a black quill in her hands, Clara wiped the bit of ink off on her white petticoat. Rahab winced and sympathized with the servant that would have to make the attempt at taking that stain out. Clara wore underneath the petticoat a light blue dress with long sleeves and frills at the wrists, an added touch that Clara loved. She looked sweet and innocent, incapable of doing any wrong, but anyone who fell for that knew nothing about her. Clara's mind was sharp; sharper than most children Rahab had come across. And it wasn't pride for his niece that made him come to this conclusion, it was the truth.  
  
"It was the ghost who haunts grandpa's throne room."  
  
Rahab sighed, massaging his brows. The chalk on his talons was transferred onto his pale face and that made Clara laugh. "The ghost, Ariel, cannot leave the Pillars, Clara. So how could she be here in the Drowned Abbey then if she could not leave the Pillars?" This little line of logic made Clara frown for a moment, trying to think up a convincing lie for her uncle no doubt.   
  
"I do not know," she finally spoke. Clara looked down at the quill in her hands, and then drew something on the parchment in front of her. Rahab gave a stiff smile and turned back to the board.  
  
"Do not throw any more papers in class, Clara." Rahab finished writing down what was needed, then dropped the chalk on his own desk, which seemed to groan under the weight of all the tomes he had stacked atop one another. Sitting down, Rahab selected one of his historical tomes and cleared his throat to speak. He had been teaching Clara since the beginning of last autumn, enjoying every moment of it. Finally, someone who would willingly listen to what he said and what he taught, an impressionable mind that Rahab could fill with all the knowledge of Nosgoth itself. Clara had borrowed more than enough books from his extensive library, massive volumes that Rahab knew she could not read yet, but she carried them around with her either way to give people the impression that she was smart for her young age. Rahab knew he would not see those books for a time yet but that did not concern him in the least.  
  
"Open your book 'Early History of Nosgoth' to page 65, Clara." The child grabbed the blue leather bound tome from a pile beside her and quickly flipped through the pages until she came to the same section her uncle was at.  
  
"'The Oppression of the Vampires Under Sarafan Rule,'" Clara read the chapter title slowly, partially because the gothic letters were hard to read and also because she did not wish to stumble and appear stupid.  
  
"In the days before the Pillars of Nosgoth fell, vampires and humans lived together in Nosgoth side by side. But the Holy Order of the Sarafan, a monastic sect of monks, feared the vampires and persecuted them," Rahab spoke in a strong voice. "With the Circle of Nine behind them, an oligarchy of powerful sorcerers, the Sarafan warriors slew the vampires in the most horrible of ways. Pyres burned day and night; whole vampire families were wiped out. One method of torture the Sarafan employed was staking the vampire through the chest, then leaving him or her to die once the sun rose."  
  
Clara raised a hand up in the air and waved it from side to side. Even if she was the only other being in the room, she acted as if there were others clamoring for her uncle's immediate attention. Rahab looked up from the history book and gazed at his niece. "Yes Clara?"  
  
"Would the Sarafan do that to my father if they caught him," she whispered. Clara looked at a few of the illustrations on the next couple of pages with disbelieving eyes.  
  
The scholarly vampire nodded. "Yes Clara, they would have."  
  
"But my daddy is nice to people, even the human servants," she bashed a fist into the book, right above an inked illustration of a Sarafan warrior standing over the prone form of a vampire. "Those Sarafan are," Clara quickly leafed through a dictionary beside her to look for a proper word, "imbeciles! They don't even care what a vampire feels then, do they, uncle Rahab?"  
  
He shook his head. "The Sarafan only cared in making the vampires feel pain and agony; everything else was useless Clara."  
  
"Would they have hurt you too, uncle Rahab, as well as my other uncles?" Rahab nodded. Clara's face became slightly paler. For a moment the Clan Lord wondered if he should be teaching Clara something like this. But knowledge was power, and the more she learned from an earlier age then the more understanding she would have of the world around her. The daughter of Melchiah gave a sudden grin and wrote something down of her parchment. "But those Sarafan wouldn't be able to take out grandfather, would they then? Because he's far too powerful with his magical sword, isn't he?"  
  
"The Soul Reaver? Oh yes, Lord Kain is indeed very dominant with the Reaver by his side. Did you know that he in fact fought against the Sarafan, Clara? When he was younger, just as I fought against the Sarafan once too."  
  
Rahab could see that he now had his niece's complete attention. It would be anything short of the Abbey windows smashing and the waters flooding into the library to get her to look at anything else. "Tell me, tell me," she chirped. "Daddy does all the time, as well as uncle Dumah but I want to hear what happened to you when you fought against the evil Sarafan."  
  
Adjusting his glasses the Clan Lord gave something between a sigh and a laugh. What could he tell Clara? There were some things that she would never learn about her uncles or her father, the darker sides of life that were better left alone. But Rahab did recall an almost hysterical tale that involved him and some of his Rahabim fledglings. He leaned forwards in his chair and winked at Clara. "Well, I do have one funny story for you. It was when a few of my fledglings and I were heading back here to the Drowned Abbey as the sun was beginning to rise in the sky. We needed to hurry because as you know I cannot stand the light of the sun as well as others can." Clara folded her hands on the desk and tipped the chair she sat in forwards, straining to catch every word. "But as we were heading around the last bend on the road, right on the bridge running straight to my palace was a patrol of Sarafan warriors."  
  
"What did you do?"  
  
"What could we do? I needed to get home with my fledglings. Oh, there were many Sarafan knights, all of them heavily armoured and carrying weapons that would make your hair stand on end at the sight of them. They clogged the bridge." Rahab embellished the tale a little; there had not been enough Sarafan to obstruct the bridge, only twelve in all. But they were elite cavalry, and their horses had caught the scent of vampires in the air. "I ordered all of my Rahabim to bring their weapons to bear. It we were to die, then we would take them all down with us."  
  
"But you didn't die," Clara interjected.  
  
"I know, but let me finish the story," Rahab admonished her gently. "The Sarafan charged at us, their battle cries ringing through the morning air. And we waited on the pathway to home as they came at us. Then on my signal, we all dived into the water and vanished from view."  
  
Clara raised one eyebrow. "You played the coward, uncle Rahab? I bet uncle Dumah never let you live it down."  
  
"Ah, but hear me out. The Sarafan know that all vampires cannot stand the water, which we die at the very touch of. But obviously they did not know that Clan Rahabim loved water above all else and that we can survive in it. So the Sarafan looked at the ripples in the water and assumed that we had all died." Rahab chuckled at the memory. "I swam swiftly in the currents with my fledglings, moving behind the Sarafan. When they turned back to the Abbey to once again block the bridge, they found us waiting there. True we were all wet, but Clara, you should have seen the look on those humans' faces. For all their bravado and highly flaunted courage, the Sarafan screamed like children and took off on their horses. They did not think of us as vampires anymore but as demons."  
  
Rahab began to laugh as he remembered. "Then what happened," Clara demanded, standing on her chair and looking at her new favorite uncle.  
  
"Simple. We chased after them and killed them." The little girl clapped her hands and smiled.  
  
"So those Sarafan got what they deserved, trying to kill all those vampires who weren't going to hurt anyone at all. If I were there, I would throw a rock at their heads like uncle Raziel taught me to. And then I would give them a pow and a bash in the head!" Clara imitated punching a Sarafan in the air, then picking up one of her books and hitting another one in the chest. "They wouldn't hurt my family."  
  
"I am sure none of them would have gotten past you, Clara. You are much too sweet. Now sit down and we will continue-" The library doors opened before the vampire lord could complete his sentence. Standing in the doorway were two young fledglings, both looking no older than Clara's age. They bowed quickly to their lord and master, and then turned their attention to Clara.  
  
"Clara, we found some crabs washed up on the shoreline. Do you want to come and kick them back into the waves with us," the first one asked.  
  
"Some are this big," the second one added, stretching his arms out as far as they could go.  
  
"No crabs can grow that big," Clara countered. "It is scienti-" She paused for a moment, then continued, "-cally impossible."  
  
"It is not," the two fledglings spoke at once, a defensive tone in their voices. Rahab let this little exchange continue for another minute, then cleared his throat loudly and stood. Immediately the children fell silent, but Clara wore a smug expression on her face since she felt her uncle was about to tell them such a thing was indeed impossible.  
  
"There is a class going on here at the moment. If you have nothing better to do, then I suggest you leave until Clara is finished her studies." Rahab motioned towards the hourglass, the white sand only halfway drained. The two fledglings muttered an apology, bowed again and closed the doors behind them. Rahab turned back to the history lesson with Clara but he could see that she was not involved. Going through her eight-year-old mind was the question on just how big those crabs might actually be and what she was missing. Rahab glanced at the hourglass again, noting that even in two hours they had covered more than enough information in one day.  
  
He closed his tome and placed the hourglass on its side. Clara was writing something down, but she looked up at her uncle from the comer of her eyes without trying to appear too obvious. "Class is adjourned, Clara. But I want you to do something for me," Rahab continued as his niece quickly packed up her books and paper. "I was you to find out exactly if this crab really is as big as said to be, then take measurements as well. Then I would like you to write a brief description about the crabs washing up on shore, give a few reasons why they might be doing this, and see if there are any myths pertaining to giant crabs in Nosgoth." Rahab smiled. "I want it handed to me by the time we meet next week for your next lesson."  
  
The Clan Lord swore Clara raced out of the library faster than he could ever give her credit for. Although she wished to learn, Clara was still a child at heart and desired to play with her friends as well. Rahab could hear her calling down the hallway for her friends to wait up for her. Standing up and stretching, he erased what was written on the blackboard, wiped his glasses on his cape and walked over to Clara's desk to see what she had written. Instead of taking notes she had instead drawn a small picture of her wearing her father's armour with the Soul Reaver in one hand. And tiny stickmen representing the Sarafan crushed underneath her feet. The scholarly vampire did not know what to make of it but he kept it all the same.  
  
****  
  
"I believe I still have that drawing she made somewhere in one of my books. If you wish I could give it to you, Melchiah."  
  
The youngest Lieutenants shook his head. "No, that is alright, Rahab. I know that deep down you want to keep that drawing she made and besides, I have quite a few." Melchiah pointed to the rolled up and yellowed parchment. Rahab chuckled.  
  
"She did have a flair for drawing."  
  
"So did Clara ever hand in that report about the crabs? I recall that she indeed took a few home with her but the nature of how she brought them home was none to pleasing for myself or for her nurse."  
  
Rahab paused. "Oh, do tell."  
  
Melchiah smiled. "Clara took off her dress and made it into a sack to carry the crabs in. When she showed up at home in her undergarments her nurse practically had a fit, as did I. But then what father wouldn't? Clara could have simply asked for a servant."  
  
"Heh, Clara was far too independent. And she never asked for help unless it was truly required." Rahab and Melchiah both jumped as they heard the new voice. Leaning against the door with his arms across his chest and a slight smile on his face was Raziel. Both had not even heard or seen him come in. "I remember you telling me that, Melchiah. And did you not say that Clara went down to the shoreline every day after that to look for the mythical giant crab?"  
  
"She did and if we had not put a stop to it, she would have still been at the shoreline to this day looking of the thing," Rahab responded as he stood. "Well Melchiah, I must take my leave of you. Today I am receiving some new servants and I have to make sure they know what they are to do. A good day to both of up." Clapping Melchiah on the shoulder in support, Rahab walked past Raziel and was gone down the halls of the Melchiahim Clan holdings.  
  
Raziel walked into the chamber, stopping to admire the dresses in the wardrobe and a small jewelry box that was trimmed in gold and ivory. "You only come here when you are in a foul mood, Melchiah."  
  
"My foul mood has lightened somewhat, Raziel. I just recall better times."  
  
"And time slipped past, slipped past / No one knew where it had gone / Down the road of tomorrow and never to return," Raziel quoted a bit from an old poem he enjoyed. "Looking at some of these things reminds me of some thoughts I had almost forgotten."  
  
Melchiah's face was filled with curiosity as Raziel ran a hand over the jewelry box. "What do you mean by that?"  
  
The first-born traced a talon over the ivory carving of a rose on the box. "Like when I gave this to Clara. Every item holds a story. Don't you remember?" Melchiah shook his head. "You have given Clara over to me for a whole week because Kain had ordered you and your soldiers to put down a rebellion near the human Citadel. You did not want Clara to be left in an unguarded palace so you placed her with me for the time being."  
  
"And I can say without even trying to remember that you spoiled her rotten, Raziel." The leader of Clan Razielim only shrugged his muscular shoulders and picked up the jewelry box.  
  
"You only live once. And besides, I would do anything for Clara." Raziel opened up the box and a few strands of music came out. "I would have done anything for my niece…" 


	7. Chapter 7

"Listen to your uncle, Clara, and do not try to follow me like last time." Melchiah stood in his full armour, clan symbol painted on the right shoulder, in front of the assembled clan with a human attendant holding his black warhorse. The Clan Lord looked tired and strained; he did not wish to go to war, not now, but an order from Lord Kain was an order. Melchiah took his helmet from his daughter who was dressed in simple red silk robes with a heavy yellow cloak thrown over her shoulders. She was twelve now, and was already turning into a young woman before Melchiah's eyes. Her hair, once placed into curls, now fell down to her shoulders in waves and was decorated with a few silver pins in the shape of dragonflies. If it had been in his power, Melchiah would have stopped time. Unfortunately, not even the most powerful of sorcerers could freeze the sands of Time.   
  
The Clan Lord looked past Clara and saw Raziel standing off to one side; the older brother silently nodded. Raziel could understand the inner debate raging inside of Melchiah, but it was neither his place nor the time to speak it. Even if he was Kain's first-born, Raziel knew that it was not his place to interfere with the business of other Clans save his own. And Raziel could understand why Melchiah did not want to leave.  
  
More than anything else Melchiah did not want to go off to fight the humans; he wondered why they did not give in quietly and avoid the needless bloodshed and pain. Rubbing one talon across his face he looked into Clara's eyes. "Promise me that much."  
  
She curtsied in front of him, bowing her head slightly. "Yes father, I will not follow you like last time. I promise you by the Soul Reaver. Never will I repeat the same mistake like last time."  
  
Last time.   
  
By the Dark Gods and everything that was unholy, what had Clara been thinking when she had secretly hidden amongst the ranks of the vampires as they marched off to attack the kingdom of Skye? If one of Melchiah's officers had not seen Clara's eyes underneath the visor of the helm she had worn, so unlike the yellow cat's eyes of vampires, then most likely she would have been impaled on a spear when the attack had begun. Clara had been taken back to the lines to await her father Melchiah; the vampire lord still frowned at the memory. She had only been eleven and had thought to carry the whole war on her own shoulders. Zephon had come to retrieve her personally and even the fifth eldest had spoken to Melchiah later that he had perhaps judged Clara too harshly.  
  
Like Zephon could truly say anything about parenthood.  
  
The sky rumbled overhead; the dark clouds heavy with rain threatened to come down at any moment. What an inauspicious beginning to a military campaign, Melchiah thought grimly. "As my territory is the closest to the human rebels, and since I have to take my vampires with me, it would leave the palace unguarded and you as well. Raziel will care for you in the time that I am gone Clara, and I would feel all the better knowing that you are safe."  
  
"And how do you think I feel about you going to the battlefield alone, father?" Clara blinked quickly as she looked at her father, holding back tears that she did not want anyone else to see. The warhorse pawed the ground impatiently, ready to be underway. The bridle clinked; that was the only other sound in the air besides the Melchiahim vampires talking quietly among themselves in the ordered ranks.  
  
"I shall be safe. I am a Clan Lord, remember?" The youngest of the Lieutenants placed his helmet on, partially to protect himself from the rain that would soon fall but also to not see Clara's tears . . . and to not lose the resolve he had built up. It would do no good for him now to try and back out of this mission. Clara nodded and gave something of a smile. Brave child, she was trying to hold everything in. Melchiah promised he would make this all up to her, somehow. Clara embraced her father, pressing her forehead up against his chest plate and holding him tightly, as if a sudden gust of wind would carry him away from her. Whispering soothing words, Melchiah patted Clara on the back and gently pushed her away. Without another word, he turned away from her and mounted his warhorse. The human servant bowed and backed off.  
  
Someone blew a trumpet from the palace battlements. With barely a nod in Clara's direction, her father turned the horse around and began to march with the rest of the Melchiahim clan out of their ancient stronghold. Clara stood on the palace steps and watched the army recede from her vision. She did not move as the last vampire marched out of the tall gates, and stood as still as a statue even when the last pendant had vanished from view. The human servants closed the iron gates with a resounding clang, and although Clara tried to hide it, Raziel could see the sadness on her face.  
  
"He will be all right, Clara." Raziel came up beside his niece and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "If there is anything I know about your father, he always keeps his promises. And since he did promise to come back, then come back he shall." Clara glanced at her uncle, then back at the closed gate. Raziel quickly picked up on what she was thinking. "And do not even think of going after him again. You gave a promise."  
  
"Sometimes promises have to be broken. That's the whole point to them," she replied with a huff and stomped away from Raziel, up the palace steps and past the servants.  
  
Raziel raised an eyebrow and called over his shoulder, "Oh, and where did you hear that from? I do not recall your father or I ever telling you such a thing."  
  
"Uncle Zephon told me that and I think it is the damn best piece of advice he ever gave me," Clara shot back before she slammed the main palace doors behind her. Then she quickly opened the door and looked at Raziel. "And yes I said damn! I don't care if it is a swear word or not; uncle Dumah says that is what swear words are for, after all. And I do not give a care if you do tell my father I said that!" Clara closed the door behind her; crashing the wood into the frame was more like it.  
  
Raziel sighed deeply and massaged his temples. This was Clara's way of dealing with the absence of her father; the Lieutenant only hoped that she would not be acting like this for the rest of the week. Raziel quickly marched up the palace steps and into the massive edifice to find Clara and help her get ready to leave.  
  
* * * *  
  
"These shall be your rooms until further notice. My servants will bring up your things later." Raziel waved a talon around the room as Clara stood beside him. They were standing in the parlor, a circular room with three doors in front of them that led off to the bedroom, on the right, the washroom in the middle and off to the left the changing rooms. The white marble floor was streaked with black veins and on the walls were painted murals of mystical creatures. "Now if you would like, I could give you a grand tour of my home."  
  
Clara poked her head through each door, looking at every room in turn, then looked back at her uncle. "My rooms at home are bigger."  
  
"Well the only other rooms that are bigger than these ones are mine Clara, and I am not about to move out of them to appease you," Raziel gave a smug smile, waiting for Clara to counter.   
  
She defiantly put her hands on her hips, a small smile also beginning to form on her lips. "Then maybe I should just head back home and wait there."  
  
"And if you do that, then I will go over there, grab you by the arm, flip you over onto my back, and bring you back here. And then I shall have to place you in one of the dungeons to make sure you will not run off again." Clara's eyes widened, not believing that her uncle would actually do that. "And I am sure that your father would agree with me on that, Clara."   
  
"Oh, fine then!" Clara took off her cloak and threw it on one of the high-backed chairs in the parlor. "You win this round, uncle Raziel!"  
  
"Of course I do. I'm your uncle, after all."  
  
"And what does that mean?" Clara looked at one of the murals showing a phoenix rising from the ashes.  
  
"That you have to respect me because I am older, and also a Clan Lord." He extended a hand to her. "Come. You would enjoy seeing my palace. Granted while it is not home to you, I want you to be as comfortable as possible during your stay here and to not get lost. Some of these hallways and staircases can take you to places that even I did not know existed."  
  
Clara took her uncle's hand in her own and laughed. "That's kind of sad, uncle Raziel. Getting lost in your own house." Raziel stifled a chuckle and pretended to look insulted.  
  
"Some of these halls have a life of their own. Granted I do not need a map of my palace like uncle Zephon does, I sometimes do get lost but I am more or a-"  
  
"Uncle Zephon needs a map to find his way around his own house," Clara asked skeptically.   
  
Raziel nodded. "Yes, he does. But don't tell him that I told you that. He might come after me with something large and heavy." The vampire whispered the last, then winked and tapped his nose with a claw. Clara laughed loudly as she tried to imagine Zephon getting lost in his own house.   
  
Raziel led Clara down the hall, away from her room and towards the western towers that, on a clear night, offered a fine view of the Nosgoth mountains and even the ocean beyond. He took her to see the hanging gardens, filled with plants that could be found nowhere else, and the stables. Clara quickly became attached to a small white filly, stroking the animal's small head and feeding it oats all the while saying she was the prettiest horse Clara had ever laid eyes on. Raziel mentally reminded himself to give this filly to Clara when it was time for her to leave. The vampire lord recalled Melchiah saying that he did not want his older brother to spoil Clara, but Raziel quickly banished the voice.   
  
He would do anything for his only niece.  
  
The clouds, which had been heavy with rain, finally opened up with streaks of lightning and soaked the earth that evening. Raziel and Clara were dining on one of the terraces, safely out of the way of the rain. Raziel did not need to 'eat'; he had already consumed blood beforehand but Clara was attacking her food with less than perfect table manners. The cook had prepared her a steak that Raziel thought Clara couldn't have finished but she did, as well as potatoes she did not touch and rice that was 'mysteriously' vanished yet the Clan Lord knew she did not eat.  
  
"Do you think my father is all right?" The sudden question surprised Raziel, who had been lulled into a trance as he heard the rain fall to the ground below. A group of candles cast long reflections across the table and up against the far wall. Raziel turned to Clara, her face half-hidden in shadow and half in light. It might have just been a trick with the candles but for a moment the vampire assumed that Clara's eyes looked far older than before.  
  
Clasping his hands together and leaning back in his chair, Raziel watched a bolt of white lightning pierce the dark sky and for a moment illuminate everything in the harsh light. "I would be lying Clara if I said I knew. I do not know how your father is but," Raziel gave a shuddering sigh, "I am just as worried as you. But knowing Melchiah and his clan, they are doing fine."  
  
"I hope so," Clara said. "One of these days, when I am older, do you think I could accompany him or you into battle?"  
  
"That is not for me to decide," Raziel shook his head. "That is for your father. But Clara, you should retain your innocence as long as possible. In this world now, with so many changes and so many dangers, you should cling to what you have. Battle is not as glorious as you think; it does not play out the way you have read it in books or have heard it in bards' tales. The truth is much more," he searched for the word, "shocking."  
  
"With the way things are going, I don't think there will be any battles for me to fight when I am older. All the humans are now living in the Citadel, near to the southern lake. They do not come out anymore and don't cause trouble."  
  
"Maybe it is for the better," Raziel frowned at Clara's plate. "Are you going to finish those potatoes or not, Clara?"  
  
* * * *  
  
The rest of the week past in a blur, in Raziel's own opinion. For the first two days Clara insisted that her uncle show her the staircases and halls that led to nowhere. The did get lost for awhile, to Clara's great delight, but managed to come back to civilization when the twelve-year-old followed the air currents back to the Razielim Clan's hanging gardens. Following that excursion which the Lieutenant never hoped to repeat, he had taken Clara horseback riding all the way to Rahab's Drowned Abbey. She had refused to ride side-saddle and had only stopped her complaining when she had gotten a proper saddle. They did not stay long over at Rahab's; Raziel insisted that Clara was tired from the ride when in fact she wasn't. It was the only excuse the first-born could think of to keep Clara away from Rahab and to himself. Looking back on that Raziel realized that he was being selfish, but he had been told to care for Clara until Melchiah came back and he would stick to those words.  
  
On the last day that Clara was to stay with Raziel, a caravan of gypsies had been given permission by the Clan Lord to camp in his domain as they passed through, and to remain unmolested by his vampires. Clara, after hearing from both the Razielim vampires and the human servants the wares the gypsies had been selling, had convinced Raziel to bring her to the camp. In truth Raziel had wanted to go himself but other work had kept him from leaving. With Clara as the excuse to back away from official if tedious duties, Raziel left with his niece to the colourful tents of the gypsies as night fell.  
  
Gypsies were the only humans who gave neither allegiance to Lord Kain or to the humans. Outcasts amongst the humans and held with some fear by the vampires, the gypsies had a wary truce with the Clans. They did not bother them as long as they were not bothered in return. And it was rumored that most vampires had lived their human lives, for the most part, as gypsies and a few wayfarer vampires traveled with the caravans. Raziel had seen many gypsies before; had seen their tents and their wares beforehand but Clara had never encountered gypsies. They had stayed away from the Melchiahim territories for obvious reasons. Now walking down the road towards the camp, seeing his vampires and servants coming and going, Raziel couldn't help but smile as he saw the look on Clara's face. She looked like such a child again.  
  
The tents were a bright myriad of silks sewn together in patterns that both pleased and baffled the eye. Some tents had pendants outside the entrances showing what the owner had to sell. The Clan Lord noted with some displeasure that many of his children were lining up outside the tent of a fortuneteller. Obviously they wanted to see what the rest of eternity had in store for them. Clara squealed with delight as she saw a gypsy breath fire for a crowd; a puppet show going on, the story about Lord Kain destroying the last of the Sarafan, and a man swallowing swords.   
  
"I would like to view the booths, uncle Raziel." Clara tugged insistently on her relative's arm and nearly pulled him over to one of the tents, a midnight blue, was selling carved jewelry. Quickly looking at the wares, Clara moved onto the next tent and then the one after that, her eyes quickly appraising everything.  
  
"Do you see anything you like, Clara?" The first-born son of Kain questioned his niece as she turned a jewelry box trimmed in gold and ivory over in her hands. On the front was a carving of a rose, rising up slightly. Clara opened the box and out came a few strands of music. The melody seemed haunting to Raziel but Clara closed her eyes and swayed slightly from side to side, oblivious to anything else but the music. "Clara?"  
  
The young girl opened her eyes and smiled. "This is beautiful, isn't it? I haven't seen anything like this in my whole life." She turned to the owner of the tent, a middle-aged man with an oiled mustache. "Where did this come from?"  
  
The gypsy twirled the end of his mustache around one finger and gave a toothy grin to Clara. Raziel saw that two of the human's teeth were pure gold. "That came from across the ocean and to the west, milady. I came across that when I was younger and it seems someone is finally able to know beauty when they see it."  
  
Raziel knew what the question would be before Clara even asked it, just as he knew the answer before he spoke it. "Could I have this, uncle Raziel?" The vampire lord took the box from his niece and examined the craftsmanship. He truly wanted to see if there was any fault under his close inspection but his keen eyes could detect nothing. Raziel would buy only the best for his niece.  
  
"Yes Clara." Raziel handed the jewelry box back to the young girl, who held it protectively in her hands, and turned to the gypsy. "What is the price?"  
  
"For you, Clan Lord, absolutely nothing. You have given us gypsies haven here when no one else would, and this is my way of thanking you." The man bowed to the vampire lord in front of him. Raziel gave a slight nod of his head and left the tent with Clara beside him.  
  
"And now I can place all my jewelry in here," she said. "Like that jade necklace you have given me. Thank you, uncle Raziel." Clara hugged her uncle as they walked back to his palace.  
  
"Think nothing of it, Clara. Think nothing of it."  
  
The two continued on in silence back to the palace. Clara, although too old to sleep with dolls, or at least in the opinion of Matron, still kept her rag doll with her when she went to bed. As Raziel tucked his niece in for the night, muttering to himself how the week passed by so quickly, his eyes caught on the frayed doll. It looked in need of new hair, not to mention some new clothing, but Clara held it close to her chest as if it was the most precious thing in the whole world to her. In a sense it was; a tangible link to her father who would be coming back tomorrow. Raziel had received a message saying such a few moments after he had come back to his dwellings.   
  
The Lieutenant silently mused to himself that perhaps, if he prayed just hard enough, maybe he would be lucky to have some infant dropped at his doorstep.  
  
Melchiah's army returned victorious, as if there would be any doubt about that. The Melchiahim clan had only suffered minor losses, but the human rebellion had been shattered for lack of a better word. Mayhap in later years another mortal would attempt to fight the vampire overlords, but for the moment the memories and wounds were still fresh and time did not heal all wounds. Clara had run towards her father the moment he came back through the gates; the vampire had picked his daughter up easily and held her on his lap as he rode the rest of the way home. Raziel, who watched from the sidelines, could not help but feel envious for his youngest brother. Father and daughter, both smiling, both content to be back with each other.  
  
"Two peas to a pod," he muttered to himself as he turned to leave. The Melchiahim clan had celebrating to do, thankful to have come back to their family and friends alive and well.   
  
Later that week, as another gift from Raziel to Clara, a small white filly appeared in the stables for the child.  
  
****  
  
"You spoiled her rotten. I knew you would not listen to me no matter what I said. It is always like you." Raziel tried to give the most innocent and charming smile as he rose to leave. Melchiah was shaking his head at the eldest sibling.  
  
"So perhaps I did. But does that matter?" He replaced the jewelry box on the desk, running his talon one last time over the rose. "She had matured a lot since the last time I had seen her. More willful and impulsive as well. Who do you think taught her that?"  
  
Melchiah shrugged his shoulders. "How should I know? Perhaps she got it from me, but I think that is highly unlikely." He sighed for a moment, and then gave a wistful smile. "Perhaps she learned that from Kain. I believe that was where she learned to become somewhat stubborn. Do not tell father I said that," he added hastily. Raziel shook his head.  
  
"Whatever is said between us remains a secret, Melchiah. But I think Lord Kain would be quite flattered to know he managed to teach Clara something. In fact-" A heavy hand descended on Raziel's shoulder; the eldest whirled around quickly to see who had snuck up behind him. The intruder had been so quiet that even Melchiah had not been aware of the person's presence.   
  
"What is all of this? A meeting and I was uninvited. Really, and here I was thinking you brothers thought better of me." The vampire lord tisked.  
  
"Hello Turel. I thought you were leading a group of vampire worshippers through one of the many rites that they make for us." Melchiah leaned against one of the bedposts and looked at the second eldest, standing even taller than Raziel with his emerald green clan cape thrown over one shoulder.  
  
The mage snorted and made a rude gesture with his hands. "They do not need me to preside over their petty ceremony. I have much better things to do with my time. And besides," Turel dropped his booming voice down to a low whisper, "once you have seen one ceremony, with its dull and dreadful hymns, then you have seen them all. Trust me, I know."  
  
"I do not doubt you on that."  
  
"So what were you two talking about? Conspiring behind my back? Devising a prank on someone?" He glanced from Raziel to Melchiah and back again.  
  
"Far from it." Melchiah's voice sounded tired to Turel's ears, but the emotion did not cross his face. "We were talking about…Clara."  
  
The second-born nodded sagely. "Would it be inappropriate for me to add my own tale?"  
  
Melchiah smiled. "Not at all." Raziel made a distressing noise, making the Lieutenant turn to give. "What?"  
  
"I just remembered. I need to go and speak with Lord Kain. Something that slipped my mind beforehand now has just resurfaced." Raziel mock-slapped himself on the face.  
  
Turel chuckled. "Well Raziel, it is good to know that your head is not completely empty in there. There actually is a brain inside, only when it cares to work mind you." Raziel rolled his eyes at Turel as he stalked past his brother. "Just remember," Turel called after him, "if you keep slapping yourself in the face, then I won't be able to call you the many funny nicknames I have given to you over the centuries." The first-born yelled something back to Turel that Melchiah missed but was quite sure he did not want to hear to begin with. Clapping his hands, the mage glanced around the room and pulled out one of the low chairs to seat himself down.  
  
"So what have you to recall, sibling?" Melchiah leaned forwards slightly from the bed.  
  
Turel rubbed his chin and appeared thoughtful. "I have many memories with Clara, but one in particular stands out. It was the time I took her to the human Citadel. She had been asking to got there for weeks on end, and since you never got around to going there, I decided to take her." He saw the dumbfounded look on Melchiah's face. "What, you never knew of this? Oh yes, Clara and I promised complete secrecy, making a pact." Turel's eyes darted around the room. "But that does not seem to matter anymore."  
  
"I would be very interested to learn what you showed my daughter at the Citadel, Turel." Melchiah put heavy emphasis on the word my. The second eldest smiled, showing his fangs.  
  
"I regret bringing her with me in later years, but she was destined to find out sooner or later."  
  
"About what, Turel? Do not play games with me, brother. I want to truth."  
  
"And that was what Clara learned, dear Melchiah. She learned the truth between humans and vampires, and what separates them from us. God, I was stupid bringing her to the Citadel. I should never have listened to her..." 


	8. Chapter 8

Turel was running low on Dragon Blood powder. The vampire lord turned over the glass vial that should have contained the red powder and watched as a few last grains trickled onto his palm. Nothing else was left. It was empty; it should not have been empty. Turel flicked the powder off of his hand, recapped the empty glass vial and turned to look at his workshop set out before him. He was standing in a large circular room, a desk running around the edge of the walls that held on it books, vials and containers holding liquids that he had been working on for a while. An iron candelabrum gave light in the room and through the glass dome that was the roof, Turel could see the moon up above.   
  
It was half-full, and he was supposed to complete his spell during the half-moon phase. There was no other time to complete this spell.  
  
And now without any Dragon Blood powder; he would not be able to cast that magic spell he had been preparing for. Crossing the room to where the Clan Lord held more of his potions in a cabinet, Turel opened it to see if perhaps he did perhaps have a little powder left, in case a situation like this ever arose. What he received was a shock. His potions and powders, usually arranged in alphabetically and kabalistic order, were instead scattered all over the shelves. The vampire picked up the jar containing Moon Dust and placed it back on the highest shelf, then took down the Good Luck potion and placed it on the bottom where it was originally suppose to be. The jars, which had been filled the last time he had checked, were now half-empty. No one but Turel went through this cabinet; his other brothers as a strict rule left his magics alone. Of course, there was that one exception to the rule...  
  
The Clan Lord looked back up at the moon and grew slightly pensive. He would have to wait a whole other month now before he could finish was he had started, and all because someone had been a little greedy with his things. Striding back across the chamber, Turel drew aside a curtained portion of his workshop and entered into a smaller, more out of the way room. It was a small and cramped space, holding racks of books and scrolls that he had collected ever since he had first begun to study the arcane sciences. Perhaps there was a different ingredient he could use over Dragon's Blood.   
  
Then he heard it.   
  
A faint click from the doorknob, signaling that someone was entering his tower chamber, made Turel stand still. His ears were slightly longer than his siblings; hence his hearing was far superior to their own. Perhaps the person was the culprit who had been making a mess of his shelves and stealing his ingredients. Sliding over to the curtain, Turel's yellow eyes peered around the opening to see who it was exactly that had come calling at such a late hour.  
  
Clara stepped into the room slowly, one hand holding the doorknob while the other held a small lantern. She flashed the light from side to side, and then seeing that candles had already been lit in the room, extinguished her own flame. The girl looked like she was ready to run; a guilty expression was written across her face as if she would suddenly be caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Turel gave a quiet snicker. Thirteen years old and still scared to enter her uncle's laboratory.   
  
Well ever since she had learned that mixing mercury and sulpher together could give a potent explosion at the age of thirteen, Clara had been wary around his things. And there was no doubt about it, the vampire lord thought; Clara was the little thief who had been going through his things. Turel came to this very simple answer as he saw Clara quickly cross the room, her green dress' hem silently brushing the floor, and open up the cabinet door. She took down a few powders and one potion, looking at them quickly in the light, then pocketed them in the decorative pouch around her waist and turned to leave.  
  
Turel let her get to the center of the room, directly underneath the glass dome, when he made his presence known. "So you were the one misplacing my possessions. I take it you also helped yourself to a large share of Dragon's Blood powder too then, am I right?" Clara literally screamed and jumped up into the air, then vainly tried to catch the vials that fell out of her grasp. She managed to snatch two out of the air, but the potion, a bit of Nightshade Extract, fell quickly to the stone floor and shattered. Even Turel, for all of his vampiric alacrity, would not have been able to catch it. Clara looked at her uncle with embarrassment and shame across her face, cheeks turning a bright red, and Turel gave his niece an equally crossed look, arms folded across his chest.  
  
"I'm sorry?" Was all she could offer to him. She brushed a strand of her long hair out of her face, then made it a point not to look her uncle in the eye.  
  
"And why," Turel said slowly, "did you simply not ask me for some of these items instead of being a little thief, Clara?" Turel plucked the vials out of her hands and placed them down on the desk, making sure that they would not roll off the edge and shatter. He then raised one eyebrow and looked at Clara, waiting for a very good answer.  
  
She wrung her hands together, her eyes fixed upon the mess on the floor. "I didn't think you would give me any, uncle Turel. Father always says that you guard your magic closely and ever since that one time I accidentally blew up your workshop and burnt some of your books, you would say no to me no matter what. So I decided that if I took a little at a time, and then brought it back quickly, that you would not notice it in the least. And now I'm blabbering and I don't want you to tell my father. I'll clean up this mess but please don't tell my father. He'll punish me." Clara fixed her uncle with a desperate gaze, hands clasped together. She could still pull off that innocent look, one that made everything seem easy. Turel also knew that he was an easy victim for that pitiful expression and shook his head.  
  
"Why did you need my things?"  
  
"For my spells," Clara answered, nudging a piece of broken glass with her toe. "It's the half-moon and I needed some things to complete my circle."  
  
"Oh, and just what were you casting?" Turel placed a talon underneath her chin and raised Clara's face until her eyes met his. "I'm interested to know."  
  
"A good luck spell for my friend. He said that his luck was bad so I decided to remedy it for him. I did take some Dragon's Blood. But I could buy some more for you. I'll refill your stocks personally, uncle Turel. I promise!" That desperate look was back in his niece's eyes; she would do almost anything to get back into his good graces.  
  
Turel shook his head. "I am afraid that acquiring some of my...ingredients are very hard. Some can only be found during specific times of the year, Clara. And others can be found only at the human Citadel. Like the Dragon's Blood. And it is not cheap, either. I mean, money is not a problem for me but it is difficult getting such a thing to begin with."  
  
Clara clapped her hands suddenly and smiled. "Then I will simply go to the Citadel and get you the things that you need. It should not be all that difficult for me, uncle Turel." Turel's face turned into something akin to chagrin. With Clara saying that, it was like she was saying she would jump into the Abyss and come back bearing gifts of gold and silver.  
  
"You will do no such thing, Clara. You have never been to the Citadel; you do not know how those humans act. All your life you have lived here in the vicinity of the Clans lands. I forbid it." And then Turel saw it. That slight pout that came to Clara's lips when she had silently made up her mind and no amount of talking, cajoling or outright fighting could convince her otherwise. She would go to the Citadel one way or another, no matter what. "I know what you are thinking." He pointed a finger at her. "The moment my back is turned, you will simply go just to prove your point. Well I won't have it. It anything, you shall be accompanying me to the Citadel."  
  
"What?" Clara looked at her uncle, not truly understanding what Turel had just said.  
  
Turel nodded. "You heard me. Tonight is lost, tomorrow is still not here. Come back here tomorrow night then, Clara. Tell your father that I wish to show you the stars or something like that; make up a slight lie. Then come here and together we will go to the Citadel." And, the vampire thought silently, to think that you unknowingly forced me into this position.  
  
Clara giggled and hugged her uncle. "Thank you, uncle Turel, thank you. I promise you, you will not regret it."  
  
"I am beginning to already."  
  
Turning on the small flame in her lantern, Clara turned to go with a joyous face. "I will not tell my father. It will be our little secret then, right?"  
  
The Clan Lord nodded. "Yes, our secret. Tell no one." Turel tapped his nose and gave a wink. Clara closed the door behind her and for a moment, Turel felt very ancient. He brushed a hand through his long ponytail and looked up at the moon. Already it was beginning to wan in the night sky. Dawn would soon be coming. The mage closed one of the tooled leather tomes that he had, sighing morosely. It seemed that his love spell would have to wait until next month, then. And he only hoped in that time nothing else happened that he could not handle.  
  
* * * *  
  
"I require three jars of the Dragon's Blood, as well as two wax statues. No, the ones of the far right, one shelf above you. Yes, those are the ones." Turel stood calmly by the counter as the human clerk, a round and balding man dressed in black wool and an apron, reached up to grasp the items the Clan Lord had asked for. Had the storeowner known the true nature of the well-dressed customer in front of him, then the chances of him actually selling his wares, let alone be of a reasoned and sound mind, would never happen. As the human placed the wax statues, one in the shape of a dragon and the other in the shape of a unicorn, down on the counter and then reached back to pluck the Dragon's Blood from the shelf.   
  
The power of the transformation spell Turel had used upon himself had changed the Clan Lord wholly; while his height remained the same as before as well as his powerful built, Turel's skin no longer held a deathly pallor but was instead flushed. If someone were to touch the sorcerer they would not feel cold flesh but warmth emanating from him instead. Turel's eyes no longer held the telltale vampire gold colour; the irises were now a light gray, the same shade that storm clouds held. Dressed in simply robes, a velvet green cloak hanging off his shoulders with the hood placed over his head, Turel did indeed held the guise of the mage well. Looking around the small magic shop, located within the very heart of Citadel, the vampire wondered idly if he could in some small way, convince this human to move his livelihood over to the Turelim Clan holdings. It would make things much easier for the Clan and its children.   
  
Along both walls and at the front of the shop were bookshelves filled with scrolls, notes and other manuals that the vampire lord already owned. Positioned within glass cases that stood on wooden stands were small crystals, glass orbs that when held in the light one could see into the supposed future. Clara, clothed in a black satin gown and a red cloak, her hair tied into a multitude of small braids, was leaning intently over one of the cases, her face nearly pressed up against the glass as she strained to see the fine detail in an enchanted pendant. Just having stepped into a shop owned by a human and not by a vampire had been nearly overwhelming to the young girl.  
  
Turel well remembered how excited Clara had been when she had come to see him the following evening. Animated and wound as tightly as a spring she had giggled with delight as she and her uncle had finally set out from the Turelim region, the two had arrived at the Citadel a little after the moon had risen. The guards had thought nothing of letting two people into the fortress city who claimed citizenship with the city of Freeport; after all they were humans. After all the humans had to work together to overcome their seemingly immediate annihilation. After entering under the double portcullis that was the only entrance and exit of the Citadel, Clara had quickly pulled back the hood of her cloak to see the Citadel.   
  
Walking down avenues where humans freely conversed; women speaking freely with their friends after placing the children to bed, the men coming back from the Watch or the forges, and adolescents running along with their friends, Clara watched with a mixture of fear and curiosity. A baker was closing up for the coming night and the dressmaker's shop's windows were already darkened. A young mother with her infant was drawing a bucket of water from a fountain carved out of the fortress walls. So this was how humans behaved. The way they lived their lives in the shadow of the vampire menace was not as different as the way the vampires lived.  
  
"Uncle," Clara said in a hushed voice, not using his name "was this where my human mother came from? I know that I am not a vampire, and I love my father with all my heart, but do you believe that if I was not his daughter that I would have grown up here instead?"  
  
Turel, who had been holding Clara's hand tightly as the duo had quickly walked through the streets, was startled for a moment by the simplicity and the complexity in his niece's questions. She gave a meditative look towards him, waiting for his answer. The second-born stared off into the distance as he turned a corner with Clara, not truly looking where he was going but knowing by instinct the path towards the magic shop he frequented.  
  
"I do not know," he responded lamely. "Your mother could have come from the servants, from the Citadel, or from one of the human cities that have not fallen to Lord Kain. But does that really matter to you, Clara? You have us as your family. A loving father, five uncles who would do almost anything for you, a grandfather that-"  
  
Clara sighed heavily. "I know that uncle, but do you think I would have grown up differently had I been raised here instead of with my father?"  
  
The vampire lord had quickened his steps as Clara had been speaking, causing her to walk faster if she did not want to be dragged. Turel knew what he was really doing: purposefully avoiding the subject. Why was Clara now entertaining such thoughts? Did she not realize just how lucky she had been, that she was elevated a rank above these petty mortals? Trying to make his niece see such things would take time, and Turel at the moment did not have time. He never wanted to make the time for such questions, questions that should never be asked to begin with in the Clan Lord's view. "Look Clara," he said quickly, "there is the magic shop."  
  
Now, with the shopkeeper paid and his ingredients bought, Turel was ready to head back to the safety and sanctity of his own territory. Having been around so many humans, the scent of their warm flesh carried on the breeze to him had been nothing but torture to the Clan Lord. A vampire losing control was a terrible thing to behold, but succumbing to the bloodlust with so many humans around...Turel knew that even a son of Kain would have difficulty escaping unscathed.   
  
Coming out of his musings the disguised vampire then realized that Clara was not in the shop.   
  
Heart beating quickly, Turel quickly wrenched the door of the shop open and walked out onto the street, trying not to let his rising panic overtake him. A quick glance to the right, a furtive glimpse to the left revealed nothing. The streets were completely empty with only two lanterns providing illumination, the light reflecting off of the stone streets. Night had fallen fully now, Turel's breathing came fast in his chest. Clara had simply vanished from her uncle's side, intent on seeing the Citadel on her own and without him by her side. The Clan Lord's first thought was to find his niece, and his second thought was that if he did not find her, then he would never step a foot inside the Clan Melchiahim holdings again. Melchiah might be the weakest of the Lieutenants, but even he was a terror to behold when he was angered. Holding his packages under one arm; Turel began to walk the streets of the Citadel trying to pick up his niece's scent. Using vampiric magic here might alert the human mages, and calling out the girl's name would provide unwanted attention.  
  
"Then I will have to find her the old-fashioned way," Turel growled under his breath. Coming to the decision that Clara had most likely walked down the street to the left, Turel followed and hoped that his intuition was right. In a few long strides he had come to the corner and to an intersection. He then paused, sniffing the air for Clara's scent, the smell of her blood that separated her from the other humans.   
  
The Clan Lord continued up the road.  
  
Soon Turel's heightened senses became aware of something else besides Clara's scent. A sharp and pungent odor filled the air; it teased at his mind. Turel had smelled something like this before, not many years ago. It stirred memories that he had tried to forget. A whiff of smoke, the burned aroma of wood, charred flesh...the vampire's eyes, grew wide in panic.   
  
A burning, there was a public burning going on in the Citadel. Humans did not burn their own kind; they hung them instead. Burnings were only given out to vampires...or vampire followers.  
  
"No, no, no, no!" Turel's voice was nothing more than a choked whisper. He dropped his packages, never hearing the glass shattered on the cobblestones, as he literally became a blur of motion, darting with the speed only a vampire could possess towards the smell of burning wood and charred flesh. Images began to flash through his mind at what had happened, of what already could have happened! If anything had happened to Clara, if those dirty humans had laid one foul hand upon her innocent body, Turel vowed he would destroy this Citadel with his own talons and magic. He could feel his black heart pounding with rage barely suppressed; red clouded his vision and the Clan Lord flexed his magically altered hands.   
  
The humans would pay!  
  
The street emptied out onto the wide plaza where, in the center on a raised scaffold, was a body tied to a stake that had been driven into the ground. Flames licked and snapped at the wood, and the shadowy figure was writhing as the fire crawled up their form. The person was the same size as Clara, and the shrieks that pierced the air, screams of pain and agony over the roar of the crowd, sounded like it was Turel's beloved niece. The humans screamed out obscenities at the burning victim, shouting out their collective hate and hurling insults into the flames. His legs felt like water, the world swam in Turel's eyes. Reaching out to steady himself against a empty vendor's stand, the mighty vampire lord sank to his knees as he looked up at the burning pyre.   
  
"Clara," he gasped as a tight pain filled his chest, making it hard to breath. "Clara..." What would he do now, what could he do now? She was burning; Clara was burning. A black rage swept over the second-born of Kain, a wave that would consume him and Turel would gladly accept oblivion for the strength it offered his agony. He would take his nothingness and shatter these humans, toss their bodies up against the walls and watch their weak bodies break. Their lives would become a living nightmare without end. Turel would justify Clara's death with those of all the men, women and children living in the Citadel...  
  
"Uncle Turel! Uncle Turel!"  
  
Clara's voice pierced through Turel's void, bringing him back to the world. His head snapped up, eyes looking throughout the crowd of humans for her. There she was, running towards him with tears running down her face. Dropping to her knees beside her uncle, either not seeing or not noticing the look of relief that lit up his features, Clara wrapped her arms around him and began to sob. Shudders wracked her small form as Clara tried to quiet her sobs inside her uncle's cloak.  
  
"They're – the humans are b-burning a vampire! You have to help him, uncle Turel. You have to help him!" A howl swept over the plaza, the source coming from the vampire's burned and blackened throat. Clara gave Turel a hopeful look, her eyes pleading with him. "Please help him!"   
  
"You are alright, Clara? Did those humans touch you? Tell me!" Turel grasped his niece by her shoulders and shook her quickly, trying not to feed his quickly diminishing panic and tension into her. The young girl shook her head, a few braids falling over her eyes.  
  
"No, I just wandered off uncle Turel. Please forgive me but you have to save him!" She pointed a quivering finger back towards the smoldering vampire. By now the pyre was completely ablaze, the shadows cast by the flames making the humans seem grotesque and monstrous in the red light. The vampire had ceased in his futile struggles; he had stopped struggling altogether. Smoke billowed upwards into the night sky, obscuring the moon.  
  
Turel quickly rose to his feet, pulling Clara up with him. "There is nothing I can do, Clara. He is dead. We have to leave now."  
  
"They – they killed him," she declared quietly in an accusing voice. Clara was still crying but she seemed to not notice the tears anymore. "He was trying to leave; he talked to me and they killed him. Because of what he was. I hate them. I hate the humans. I HATE THE HUMANS!" Clara shrieked the last words to the crowd, who was beginning to disperse; her hands balled into fists and her face an unwholesome shade of red. Turel clamped a hand over his niece's mouth and dragged her into the shadow of an alley. Already the Clan Lord could feel the effects of his magical spell over himself beginning to weaken. Before his eyes, now once again the metallic gold that all vampires possessed, Turel saw his hands change back into the talons they were.  
  
Clara struggled against her uncle's grasp, kicking and pounding him with all the rage she had within her. Unable to break the hold on her, finally drained by what she had seen, Clara slumped against Turel's form and began to cry again. "It is not fair, it is not fair. That vampire was just trying to leave the Citadel. He told me he was trying to leave, that he had escaped the dungeons. He was," she hiccupped, "he seemed kind enough to me."  
  
"We're going home Clara," Turel brushed her hair back from her face with one talon. "It would be better that you did not tell your father of what you have seen. For your safety." She nodded mutely, and then taking her uncle's hand, was led willingly out of the Citadel under the cover of shadows.  
  
* * * *  
  
"I never understood why Clara was so silent in that time," Melchiah quietly spoke. "I thought at first it was I that had done something to anger her, or one of her friends. Now that I know the truth, I am glad that could be laid to rest. Did you ever find out what clan that vampire came from, Turel?"  
  
The mage shook his head. "For all I know, he could have been a rogue from the swamps. You know how it is, that some vampires create others without our consent and as such, have to abandon the fledglings to save their own necks."  
  
"My child was so changed after that. Whenever the humans were mentioned in her presence, Clara would immediately fly into a rage or stare off into the distance in a brooding silence. She never seemed to smile again, or when she did it never reached her eyes like before. Because of you she lost her innocence." Melchiah felt something akin to disappointment as he stared at Turel, one of the few siblings that he thought he could actually trust. "I do not know if I should hate you for what you did to Clara, or look at you in disgust."  
  
Turel rose quickly, not looking at Melchiah. In a voice tinged with anger the Clan Lord countered, "Now you see why I kept secret and silent for so long. If I had told you, or if Clara had uttered a word of her excursion to the Citadel, then what would you have done Melchiah? What conclusion would you have jumped to?"  
  
"I would have seen to it that you would have kept your distance from my child, that you were a contaminating influence on her." Melchiah stood and glared at Turel. "I would have attacked you and then...then I would have-"  
  
"You wanted the truth and I gave you the truth, brother! Do not hate me for what now lies in the past!"  
  
Melchiah knew he was shouting, raising his voice to be heard over Turel's booming tone. "And I would have still condoned you all the same! Turel-"  
  
"Well, it seems for once this is an argument that I in no way instigated," a sly voice said quietly; with the words came a calming effect as both Turel and Melchiah looked to see who the new visitor was. Already in the chamber, leaning up against one wall with his eyes closed and arms folded over his chest, was Zephon. His very presence caused the two to halt their verbal battle, neither looking at the other.   
  
"I have to leave," Turel muttered. Drawing his clan cape over his shoulder the second-born left the room as quietly as he had entered; by the way he hunched his shoulders around him Melchiah could see that his words had stung Turel a great deal. Dropping back down onto the bed, feeling defeated, Melchiah did not even wish to ask Zephon what he was doing in his Clan Holdings. The fifth-born rarely left his Cathedral, but when he did he was usually up to no good.  
  
"Let me guess: Clara." Zephon saw Melchiah flinch at the very name.  
  
"Who else. How much did you hear from Turel?"  
  
"Oh, I heard enough, and I can well remember those days when Clara was not quite the same person. Innocence lost, never to regain, but then sooner or later Melchiah she would have lost it. She was growing up," Zephon mused.  
  
The sixth-born clasped his talons together. "If I had had it my way, I would have ensured Clara would have remained young forever."  
  
Zephon chuckled. "Oh, did we not all wish to have that? The mood in here needs to be lightened somewhat. I have a humorous story about Clara, if you want to hear it. If not, then I can just as easily take my leave from you." He made a move towards the door, but Melchiah stopped him with a look.  
  
"Please, I want to hear it. It seems the more I hear from my brothers the less I knew about my child," he said dejectedly.  
  
"No, you knew her better than you thought you did, Melchiah. We as uncles simply observed some moments in Clara's life, moments that we hold onto and remember because we never had her like you did. You shared your life with her and we only had moments." Sitting down in the chair that Turel had occupied, Zephon swung an arm over the back and settled in. "Does it scare you that I talk like this?"  
  
Melchiah shook his head. "Nothing that you do really scares me anymore, Zephon. And as always, you speak in riddles and half-lies."  
  
Raising one eyebrow at his youngest brother, the weakest of siblings, Zephon shrugged his shoulders. "It all began two days after Clara's birthday. She had just turned fourteen..." 


	9. Chapter 9

"I do not want a mare. I want a stallion! Do not think that just because I am a girl that means I have to ride an old nag," Clara seethed to the groom in front of her. The human servant, a young man dressed in the livery of the Zephonim Clan, nodded hastily and brought the brown mare back to her stall, the sound of the iron shod hooves ringing loudly on the stable floor. Row upon row of finely bred horses filled the stalls, the animals' heads leaning out over the boards to munch the straw and oats handed to them by the attendants.   
  
"Temper, dear Clara, temper," Zephon chided beside her. Pulling tailored riding gloves over his talons the Clan Lord looked at his niece and gave a frown. "While the servants here are stupid, you must remember that yelling at them will frighten the horses. I worry more for my animals' livelihood than that of the grooms. A good horse is so hard to replace. And their temperament can change suddenly."  
  
Clara gave a dutiful nod; her uncle was right. The horses were worth much more than the servants. Humans could be acquired on a raid or from the undefended villages. Horses had to bought from the caravans or bred to produce the finest racers. It took time, and if there was anything Zephon hated it was unnecessarily waiting or wasting time that could have been spend doing more productive things. "Sorry, uncle Zephon. We would not be waiting as long if I still had my own horse."  
  
"The one Raziel had given to you?" Clara nodded, pulling at her black riding boots. "Why did you just not take a mount from your father's stables? He has horses as well."  
  
"Because," Zephon's niece answered, "you still have the most beautiful horses around."   
  
Zephon gave an arrogant smile at those words. It was true; he did have some of the best mounts around. And why shouldn't he? After all, it was the Zephonim Clan that supplied the scouts and spies in times of war, and to ensure the arrival of the latest war news, fast horses were always needed. The groom came back quickly, this time leading behind him a gray stallion that tossed its head about imperiously. Clara nodded for the groom to prepare her horse. As the groom led the horse outside to place the saddle on, Zephon walked down the stalls to find his own mount.   
  
Taking a black stallion out of its enclosure, the Clan Lord waited with a bored expression on his face as the grooms saddled the horse. They worked quickly; a slow servant was a dead one in the Zephonim Clan and the Clan Lord was known well for his capricious and sadistic nature. "So where shall we be riding today?" Clara asked as the two mounted their horses. Quickly she drew on her riding gloves as Zephon tightened the clasp securing his cloak.  
  
"You will see soon enough," he answered back. Spurring his horse forwards, the vampire lord quickly rode down the winding road leading into the Nosgoth Mountains. Glancing back to make sure that Clara was following behind, Zephon mentally approved that the girl did not ride sidesaddle as her father had taught her to. Obviously whatever Dumah had been teaching Clara about riding had stuck in her mind more than the words of her father. As Clara came alongside her uncle, Zephon slowed down the pace of his horse. It would not be any good to have the animal tire quickly and he had no wish to run his prized stallion into the ground.  
  
The mountains rose up menacingly, blocking the already weak sunlight and casting long shadows over the two riders. Zephon tipped his head backwards to see how far up the jagged earth pierced the sky. Even with his excellent vision the clouds themselves hid the peaks of the mountains, showing him nothing. Once the vampire lord had heard from one of his many children that in the olden days, when Nosgoth had been much younger and many other things had walked the land before the vampires and even humans, angels had lived in the mountains, building awe-inspiring palaces made from crystals and diamonds. Fools' stories, Zephon considered practically, the notions of dreamers and nothing else. The barren path that he and Clara took slanted up and to the right ever so slightly; no one would think they were making any progress unless they looked at the path behind them, where the slope was more evident.  
  
Clara coughed, the sound coming from deep inside her chest. Hiding the sound behind her hand, it still managed to echo along the mountain walls. The only noise on the otherwise silent pathway, it attracted Zephon's attention. She wiped her lips, coughed once more, and then quickly looked over at her uncle who was watching her in the same way that a snake watches a mouse before attacking. "What?" Her voice was defensive, instantly waiting for him to say something.   
  
"Sick?" Zephon pulled back on the reins, causing his horse to slow its pace and made its stride with Clara's. He had heard some of his servants cough the same way and then watch them fall ill with a disease that made the lungs sicken; the blood and tissue inside to come vomiting out. Clara could not be coming down with such a thing, could she?   
  
The animals were content to trot along, knowing the pathway held no dangers for them, ears perked forwards and listening intently to their riders speak even if they could not distinguish the words.  
  
"I am not sick, just feeling a little under the weather is all." Clara pulled the hood of her blue cloak over her head, indicating in her own way that the conversation was closed and no amount of harassing or empty threats from Zephon would get her to speak otherwise. That was one of the things about Clara that Zephon found so endearing with her. What a shame, he realized, it would have been if Clara had never been found on Melchiah's doorstep. She would have been another slave in a mass of pale faces and unwashed bodies, in all probability Clara would have been nothing more than fodder for one of the Clans and their voracious appetites.  
  
The horses' shoes rang against the hard ground as they bore their riders up the mountain paths. The air, while warmer at the bottom, had now taken on a more obvious chill. Clara's breath came out in a plume of white smoke, her hands gripping the reins tightly. Zephon took advantage of the silence to begin talking, this time on a conversation that Clara would quickly fall into.  
  
"And how was your birthday, dear child? The one day of the year where greed can go unbound and you can have whatever you please." He smirked at his own words, knowing them to be true. What child did not like receiving gifts from others?  
  
"My birthday?" Clara ran a hand through the mane of her horse and feeling bold enough to ride without the reins in her hands, to trust the stallion, she began to absently braid the hair while she talked. "It was good enough. Father always makes them special, just for me. There were acrobats there from the gypsy camp and a bard that had so many songs to sing. Oh, it was wonderful to hear her, uncle Zephon. She had such a lovely voice; really she sang more like one of those mythical angels than anything else. I wish I could be a bard. To travel all of Nosgoth and sing songs that would make me famous."  
  
Zephon typically did not hear anyone's dreams, nor did he indulge in his own, but Clara was his niece and he allowed her to say what she wished. She could never become a bard; Melchiah would throw a righteous fit before he allowed his own daughter to become some wandering minstrel. Clara could still dream in her youth. "And presents," Zephon persisted. "Were you given mine that I sent to you, or did the servant never arrive?" The Clan Lord knew the servant had delivered the gift. He had after all returned back to the Cathedral. But Zephon wanted to know what his adored niece thought of his gift, to steer the conversation his way.  
  
"Oh, there were many presents. From my friends, from my father, and yes, even from my many uncles." The muscles along Zephon's back flexed in agitation; he had hoped foolishly that this year the other Clan Lords would forget to send Clara presents, that he would have been the only one to have remembered and for remembering Clara would have declared him to be the greatest uncle.  
  
"And what were those gifts?" He had to know the competition, to make sure that if his gift had been surpassed in any way that he would have to think of something better. Yes, Zephon plotted, he would make sure that Clara would acquire a priceless artifact that no one else could possibly own. Then she would look to him as the uncle that she could trust, to pour her whole heart out to, who would be like a second father! Zephon gave a small cackle at the sheer cleverness of the scheme.  
  
Clara gave another deep cough before speaking. "Uncle Raziel gave to me a miniature castle, created from mother-of-pearl. I have it on my windowsill and when the sun hits it right, the castle seems to have some magical quality to it. Uncle Turel's present was a large candle that, when I melt it down, there will be small trinkets inside," she checked off the presents on her fingers, "and uncle Dumah has given me one of his battle axes, now saying that I am old enough to have a proper weapon." Zephon would have given a condescending smile to the rest of his brethren had they been riding with them. He had nothing to fear for his gift was still the finest. "And uncle Rahab personally collected all of my favorite fairy tales and placed them in one book for me. The cover is done in black leather with father's clan symbol on the face, but my name written underneath it in gold edging. Father also gave to me new dresses since he believes that I wear out my old ones much too quickly." She motioned to the simple riding clothing she, made of cotton and leather.  
  
"And my gift?" Zephon pressed.  
  
His niece gave a sweet smile. "Where did you find the artist who did my portrait for me without me knowing, uncle Zephon?"  
  
The vampire gave a mysterious look towards the sky. "I have my ways, Clara. Do not forget, I control the spies for all the Clans. We have our ways of finding only the best of anything for anyone. And as my only niece, I feel that you only deserve the best. Now you have a portrait of yourself that my dear brother can hang in his gallery; he never got around to summoning an artist and I decided to get that done for him." Zephon waited for the praise he was about to be given from Clara, to bask in the adoration that she would undoubtedly give him.  
  
Instead it was cut short when Clara quickly added "But I think grandfather's gift was the greatest of them all."  
  
Zephon jerked quickly on the horse's reins. The animal reared back, pawing the air with its massive hooves before settling back down. Clara's stallion was already moving around another bend in the pathway that curved leftwards, unaware that her uncle was not beside her. The fifth-born gritted his teeth and snarled to himself. Trust Kain to outdo them all, giving Clara a gift that could not be surpassed, that would never be surpassed. Most likely the emperor of Nosgoth was aware that his sons would be bickering for Clara's attentions, and Zephon was sure that just out of pure spite and malice he had found what gifts they were to give her, then had gone even further.  
  
Kicking his horse's flanks Zephon rounded the curve and galloped after Clara, riding ahead of her and blocking her route. He had to know exactly what Kain had given Clara; otherwise it would gnaw away at his mind until he went insane. "Uncle Zephon," Clara asked carefully, "are you all right?" No, he was not. Zephon knew he had that look in his eyes, which could have meant anything. Raziel had once noted that when Zephon's face bore that expression it was either because something had not gone the way he had planned it, or he looked like he had lost his mind.  
  
Giving a half smile, repressing the anger he felt towards his sire, Zephon waved a talon in the air. "Oh, I was just concerned about you. One should not ride ahead in these mountains alone. There are wild cats that enjoy eating horseflesh and even human flesh. I would not want to return a corpse to Melchiah. So tell me what did Lord Kain give to you, Clara?" He changed the subject quickly, catching the young girl off balance for a moment. Clara cupped her hands to her mouth and gave another throat-racking cough, then looked at her uncle. She knew that her uncle was slightly touched in the head; maybe uncle Dumah had hit him one too many times or Zephon had fallen down a flight of stairs when he was a fledgling. It was better off to tell him; Clara had seen that gaze he had given to servants before and even his own vampires.   
  
It was never a good sign.  
  
"Grandfather gave me as a present some land up north, just pass the swamps. Near a small lake that has a waterfall beside it. He will be taking me to go and see it in a few days. My father says that if I even want to, I can perhaps have a small castle built for me," Clara added hopefully. "Isn't that a fine gift, uncle Zephon?"  
  
The vampire felt his temples pulsing; grounding his teeth together to keep from screaming Zephon felt them cut into his gums. So now Clara would be looking at her grandfather not only as the emperor of all Nosgoth or as a god, but also as something even more. Zephon could hear the respect and admiration in Clara's voice for Kain, something that he felt only he should have had. It should have rightfully been mine, Zephon thought. Only mine. I worked for it!  
  
Suddenly the vampire lord wished that a mountain lion would come crashing down from the peaks above. It would be a very good way to get rid of the unhealthy anger he was feeling towards his sire at this moment in time.  
  
"But I still like riding with you, uncle Zephon." Clara's voice cut through the haze of irrational thinking of the Clan Lord. Blinking his yellow eyes quickly, Zephon narrowed them and looked at his niece. His stallion anxiously pawed the ground, feeling its master's mood.  
  
"Really? And why is that?"  
  
Clara gave a slight smile as she continued to ride on. To their left the mountains dropped away with only the air before them and a view of the landscape below. It was a drop, Zephon knew, that even a vampire could not hope to survive. It was a long way to the bottom, and the Clan Lord's stomach heaved involuntarily. He was not afraid of heights, he was just...nervous. Instinctively the horses hugged the mountains, staying as far away from the steep drop as they could. Zephon was ready to call out a warning to Clara about the loose rocks ahead, but the girl saw them before her uncle did and avoided it with ease. "Because uncle Zephon, you do not baby me as some other people would. You respect my age and you even treat me like I am already an adult. Ah," she sighed, "my back hurts. It must be the saddle. But I should not complain. Young adults do not do that."  
  
No, Zephon thought to himself. I want to still treat you as a little child but you want to grow up on your own. If it is so hard for me to realize this, then what must Melchiah your father be thinking? He must be in such pain to watch you grow older, to become more independent. And even when you are a young lady Clara, you will still be his little girl.  
  
The leader of the Zephonim Clan had never felt this melancholy before. It was one thing to raise a human from the dead again, to have them reborn as a vampire; quite another to raise a human from an infant into what they were now. Zephon was attached to his children, to a certain extent, but he had not known them personally from birth, watching over their entire lives and knowing them implicitly.   
  
Clara was different. Melchiah had completely dedicated himself to his human daughter and the other Clan Lords had done the same in their own fashion, watching Clara grow and learn as they did themselves sequentially. But all they had with her were fleeting moments; Melchiah would only be the only light in Clara's life, to see everything with his daughter. She loved her father so purely that Zephon at times wondered if everything had not been a dream for the past fourteen years. Clara had made such a mark on their lives that when she did go, everyone would feel her absence.  
  
Shaking these depressing thought from his mind and finding them unwholesome to even dwell upon, Zephon finally realized that they had arrived at their destination. "Clara, hold." The young girl pressed her booted feet gently into her mount's sides and the horse came to a slow stop. Zephon easily jumped out of his saddle and watched Clara get down from hers without any difficulty. The Clan Lord had come to this secluded location in the mountains before when he wished to leave the rest of the world behind for a few moments. Yes, he knew it was selfish, but even if he was a lord he was still entitled to having time set aside for himself. Now he wished to share the same thing with Clara.  
  
Standing on a flat plateau that hung, seemingly precariously, on the edge of the mountains, one could look down and see the land of Nosgoth in all its glory. To the west Zephon could make out the rising spires of his Cathedral and to the north, see where Turel dwelt in Dark Eden. The lakes and mountains where Dumah and Rahab's clans made their homes were too far to be seen even with vampiric eyes. The dominating feature that ensnared the viewer's eye was that of the Sanctuary of the Clans; the grand structure with its domed roofs and stain glass windows could be seen with almost crystal clarity. Zephon wondered for a short time if Kain was holding council or was on one of his long retreats again. Beyond the Sanctuary and towards the south were the Razielim Clan holdings; the Melchiahim were not visible at all.  
  
"This is where I come Clara, when I wish to be alone and think over a few of my problems. I gather that since you are old enough to have perhaps a few troubles of your own, you are welcomed to come here any time, to just think or pass the time by looking at the world below." Zephon gazed at his niece, gauging her reaction. Clara was moved by what she saw. It was as if a living and breathing map had been rolled open before her, to be looked upon at any time and to simply marvel at the beauty on display.  
  
"I have to go to the washroom," she said suddenly, the moment broken. Zephon gave a frown and tapped one cloven foot against the ground to display his annoyance. "Is there anywhere where I can go?"  
  
The Clan Lord pointed absently behind him. "There are some boulders over there where you can do your business," he spoke, flustered. Clara nodded and raced off quickly in the direction that Zephon had indicated. Well, wasn't this what always happened to him? Zephon would try and give a heartfelt moment to his niece; yes he did indeed have a heart, and it ended up being spoiled by nature decreeing that Clara had to go to the washroom. "Twisted joke," he muttered, "just a twisted-"  
  
"UNCLE ZEPHON!" The horses bolted as the scream tore through the air, kicking their hind legs out and neighing shrilly. "UNCLE ZEPHON!"  
  
"Clara, I'm coming!" Before he had even spoken those words the vampire was already sprinting towards the boulders, frantically thinking what could have befallen Clara. Was it one of those mountain lions? Had she accidentally lost her footing and nearly plummeted off the edge, clinging to the rock with all her strength in that frail body? Skirting the edge of the massive boulders, three times the vampire lord's size, he found Clara alone. Huddled up against the rocks with her legs tucked underneath her, Clara was gripping the hem of her dress and staring off into the distance.   
  
Zephon knelt in front of her and shook Clara's shoulders. "Clara, what is the matter?" From Zephon's standpoint she seemed to be perfectly fine, though frightened. Her face was nearly white and her breath came quickly. Turning her blue eyes up to her uncle, Clara grabbed his talons.  
  
"I'm bleeding," she choked out in a small voice.  
  
"Where did you cut yourself then?" Taking her head in one hand, Zephon turned told her to turn it one way and then the other. The flesh was unmarred, just as it was along her hands and arms. He could also not see any blood along Clara's backside. So what, Zephon puzzled, did she mean by bleeding? "Clara, I do not see any blood."  
  
"No," she whispered, "I'm bleeding." Clara's eyes quickly darted downwards towards her legs, then back up again to her uncle's line of vision. She was petrified...but there was a note in her voice that indicated embarrassment as well. "I want my daddy, I want Matron," Clara began to cry.  
  
Zephon was confused. He could not smell any blood and could not detect even the slightest cut on Clara's body. And then it hit him, a feeling of being smashed up against the wall. Some of Zephon's females servants at certain times of the month seemed to act far more moody than they usually did, complaining of pain around their waists and – Clara had complained about the same pain only a while beforehand.  
  
"Oh," Zephon said shakily, getting up to his feet slowly. He looked down at Clara, scratched the back of his head and tried to admire the rocks that jutted up from the mountains. Well, this was certainly something Zephon had never expected. Shifting uncomfortably, listening to Clara wailing that she was going to bleed to death out in the mountains, the Clan Lord gave a sharp whistle. Instantly the two horses appeared, still spooked from the young girl's cries.  
  
"Clara, let me help you up," Zephon offered his talon gingerly to his niece. She took it quickly and was pulled up and off the ground by him and into her saddle. "Now look, we will get back to the Cathedral in no time and then I will go and fetch your father, do you understand? You will be fine Clara." He uncertainly patted her knee, thoughts filling Zephon's head on just how old Clara was and now how much older she would soon be.  
  
Clara wiped her nose with the edge of her cape and gave another deep cough. "But I'm going to die, uncle Zephon! I don't want to die; I'm too young to die! My father will kill me if I die here!"   
  
"Shush Clara, you will not die here. I assure you." Quickly climbing into his saddle, Zephon took his reins in one talon and Clara's in the other and with a quick order; the horses began to ride down the treacherous mountainside. "It is only a little bit of blood, Clara." In truth Zephon did not know how much blood, but he did not want to know the facts, just as certainly as he did not wish to dwell on those matters as well. Leave it up to Melchiah; he was the parent. In one of Zephon's more rare moments, he was not envious of what Melchiah would soon learn.   
  
His mind, troubled by Clara's plight, did not even have time to bicker at Zephon that he should be afraid of the dizzying height of the mountain path they were on. Some things were far more important than others. The ride back down to the Silent Cathedral was faster than the ride up the mountainside. Leaving Clara in the care of two vampiresses', Zephon raced off again to report the news to Melchiah.   
  
It started off slowly, the laugh. At first it was a slight tugging at the side of Zephon's mouth, then it tickled the inside of his throat. Soon it became a chuckle and then a cry in the air. As he rode up to the gates leading to Melchiah's palace underground, Zephon was practically rolling on the ground with laughter, much to the confusion of the guards. The worst thing was, Zephon could not even understand why he was laughing, and only that he was.   
  
* * * *  
  
Zephon was still laughing, a shrill and high sound in the confines of Clara's bedchamber. Melchiah could only shake his head in disbelief and something akin to repugnance at his sibling. "She was scared, Zephon. I do not know what Matron told her but Clara refused to see even me for the next two days. And when one of her friends from the Rahabim Clan came over to inquire about her health, Clara stomped out of her room and screamed shrilly at him 'I don't want to see you for the next week' and then tossed him outside. I felt sorry for the young vampire. He was just as confused as everyone else was."  
  
"But it was...just so...funny," Zephon gasped for breath, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. The smile he wore was not as contagious as he thought and he quickly wiped it from his face. "Obviously you do not think the same, Melchiah."  
  
The youngest of the siblings folded his arms across his chest. "There is nothing comical in this story for me, Zephon. She was scared. Yes, granted you brought her back to your palace and summoned me, but from the way you made it sound it was as if she had only suffered a scratch. If I had realized that it was something that monumental that had happened to Clara, something that she needed to know about from Matron, then I would have arrived faster."  
  
"Well it was nothing to be worked up about," Zephon defensively spoke. Melchiah pounded the headboard of the bed, making Zephon jump up from his chair, the piece of furniture clattering to the floor.  
  
"You are not her father so you have no say. Try and place yourself in my position for a moment if you could, Zephon, and then you just might realize that some people can care for others. But you are just selfish and-"  
  
The fifth-born leveled his gaze with Melchiah's. "Is that a challenge, brother?" His voice had become completely emotionless and Zephon flexed his talons. The youngest stared at his brother. At any other time he might have cowed before Zephon, but he had two distinct advantages here. One, Melchiah was in his territory and surrounded by his Clan. Two, Melchiah would suffer to never have Clara's name slighted or her memory to be laughed at in any way. It had been Turel first and now Zephon. Melchiah wished he had not heard such things from his brethren, but he had and as such, his notions about his brothers had all changed. Some for the better and some for the worst.  
  
A fight could have broken out then and there; the Clan Lords rarely fought but when it did come to blows neither would back down. Thankfully someone intervened, someone that no one would dare raise a claw against or even trade a harsh word to.  
  
Kain roughly grabbed Zephon by the shoulder, pulling him backwards and sending him reeling into the wall. For a few moments the Clan Lord was in shock, and then closing his gaping mouth, stared up at his sire. The emperor of Nosgoth stood over Zephon, Melchiah hidden behind Kain, and looked down at the fifth-born.   
  
"Leave," was all he said.  
  
And Zephon obeyed.  
  
Placing the overturned chair back to its rightful place, Kain nodded to his youngest Lieutenant who was standing there dumbfounded. Obviously Melchiah had not expected help, least of all from his father. "I interrupted at a good time, otherwise this room would have been reduced to nothing less than kindling," Kain began. "And it would have been a shame, Melchiah, not just for you but for the rest of us as well."  
  
"Sire, I-"  
  
Kain raised a hand to quiet Melchiah. "No explanations are necessary. Zephon was simply looking for trouble, and he found out. I will deal with him later." A lengthy silence followed as the elder vampire surveyed the room, his inquisitive eyes not missing anything. Finally when he spoke, it was in a less commanding tone and one more considerate. "How long has it been since that day, Melchiah?"  
  
"Over eight years," he answered softly, hunching his shoulders instinctively. "Eight years ago, about a week back to this day if I can remember. But it is not like I wish to," he gave a humourless chuckle. "Clara did leave so much grief behind." Melchiah once again picked up the rag doll he had made for her when she had been a baby, turning it over gently in his talons with a wistful smile.   
  
Sitting down beside his youngest son, Kain glanced over at the doll. "Do you remember it all?"  
  
"All too clearly," Melchiah sighed, his voice once again becoming thick with grief. "It was as if it happened yesterday. The passing of years does nothing to dispel the grief. No one can forget her. My little Clara."  
  
Kain knew Melchiah was the most emotional sensitive of the six brothers; the one who was the weakest in strength was the strongest emotionally. It was burden that Kain knew Melchiah would have to bear, as well as other burdens that would come to him as the centuries rolled by. It was more for his own sake than Melchiah's that Kain began to talk. The vampire's memories of late had become muddled; new ones that had never existed beforehand replacing the older ones, unreliable thoughts that had never been his were now. Changes made, sacrificed memories and all for what? Clara's memory, Kain realized, was one that he hoped to never lose with all the monumental changes that would soon take place. And when Kain did speak, it was as if he was far away and trying to see the memories though a heavy mist.   
  
Ghostly images in a fog that might consume them.  
  
"She was about seventeen if I recall. Was she? Yes, Clara was that old, and for all of the world, there was nothing sweeter than her smile, Melchiah." 


	10. Chapter 10

Kain was not in one of his better moods. He had not been in the best of moods for as long as he could remember. But this fit that had taken Kain over was by far the worse that had ever settled down over his muscular shoulders, making the tyrannical ruler of a dying empire slump into a depression. The people around him suffered for this; human servants already cowed in Kain's presence were now utterly terrified to carry out even the slightest task when he was around, and the vampires quickly ghosted down another part of the Sanctuary when the master vampire stalked past. Even the Clan Lords to some extent stayed away from their sire. Just because they were the Chosen of Kain did not mean that they would escape his wrath should Kain wish to turn it upon them.

The master vampire's state was not due to the fact that the humans in their Citadel had increased their raids against certain vampire establishments – the training camps for the fledglings, who would become warriors, and it was not even Ariel, the specter that Kain had doomed to haunt the Pillars until his death released her. No, it was an issue that weighed down on Kain's mind, something that he had seen during his voyages through the time stream. The emperor had not believed what he had seen, and yet, Kain knew there was nothing that he could do about it. For Fate and Destiny to be fulfilled in its entirety, Kain had to play out the part that had been written for him, with the hope in mind that somehow sooner or later he would be able to change what the vampire was sure was not his true destiny. 

And the destiny of the other being, whose fate was just as closely bound as his. Kain gloomily reflected that, when the time came, would he have the conviction and fortitude to see it all through? That he would not break at the decisive moment on which everything was hung?

"Grandfather, are you well?"

Clara's voice brought Kain out of his trance with a start. Lifting his head up, Kain could see Clara hesitantly standing in the doorway that led into the throne room. The vampire master had not seen Melchiah's human child for the longest of times – time Kain was beginning to wonder if he would ever recover – but she had grown quickly as humans do. Clara's blonde hair was pulled back into a simple braid that fell down to the small of her back, a few curls framing an oval face with striking eyes and a sweet smile. Dressed in a simple gown of yellow, a Melchiahim Clan symbol emblazoned on the left shoulder, Clara looked as confident as any young woman would be. 

She gave a measured look to her grandfather, waiting for a reply.

Kain waved her forwards with one talon, rising from his throne as he spoke. "I have seen better days, Clara. And what, may I ask, brings you here to the Sanctuary today?" The emperor of Nosgoth grabbed the Soul Reaver from where it had leaned against his throne, strapping it over his back with a practiced ease.

Clara stopped at the foot of the Pillars, looking at the ruined structure before replying. "I was suppose to meet one of my friends here, down near the main gates. The time came and went and she never showed up." The young woman covered her mouth with one hand, coughing hoarsely deep in the back of her throat. When the fit had come and gone, Clara took out a kerchief and wiped her lips as if nothing had happened. Kain thought he spotted blood on the white cloth, but before he could be sure of it Clara had pocketed the material. "So instead of me going off to find her and waste a perfectly good day, I decided to see you instead grandfather. I am not disturbing you, am I?" she added quickly, waiting for a rebuke. Another cough caught in her throat, but Clara struggled to hold it back.

"So I am just the secondary person to see when one of your friends decides not to make an appearance," Kain chuckled lightly. "It makes me feel so good to hear that from my grandchild." Stepping down from the dais, Kain stood beside Clara, his height dwarfing her.

"Well no- I mean that it is just that- you're usually busy and I never see you," Clara spoke quickly, a deep red blooming over her face. "And when I do see you, it is never for long and you quickly rush off somewhere else," she continued, flustered and babbling, but unable to stop herself. Kain was content for Clara to go on for a few more minutes as she tried to talk her way out of the situation she had so superbly placed herself in. In truth he was not really listening to what Clara was saying; Kain was grateful that the young woman had shown up. It gave him a distraction from his more unpleasant thoughts, dark images that he did not want to think about, not until much later. Kain had heard that Clara had not been in the best of health; humans fell ill easily to the elder vampire's knowledge, as he had been one himself long ago, but Clara had been contracting more and more colds and sniffles as she had grown older. Another cough passed her mouth, just as deep as the last one, but it got her to stop talking. She wavered slightly on her feet, looking as if she would fall over at any moment.

Placing his hands on Clara's shoulders, holding her up before she could even consider falling to the ground, Kain shook his head. "I know I am busy Clara, so in this free time that I have would you care to spend it with me? Or is this old vampire too boring for someone as young as you?"

Her face lit up with a smile that she had never been able to lose since childhood. Kain found Clara's smile cheering. "Of course I would like to spend time with you, grandfather. My father won't expect me back until the end of the day, and he only comes out at night anyway. He trusts me enough now that I don't have to walk around with an escort." 

Kain nodded slightly. Perhaps Melchiah, although receiving the weakest of Kain's gifts, had taken the elder vampire's attitude towards possessiveness. Even with Clara's unfortunate ability to be ill most of the time, it was a wonder Melchiah had allowed her to go off by herself without someone to make sure that she was all right. But then again, Melchiah had raised Clara from an infant and Kain could not even begin to understand the bond between parent and child. He did not even try to grasp the concept.

"Come then; the halls of the Sanctuary wait." Waving a hand expansively to the Sanctuary of the Clans, the emperor of Nosgoth strode out of the throne room with Clara following close behind. Having to lengthen her stride to match her grandfather's the young woman could not even say a word, all her concentration on just staying with Kain. Noticing Clara's silent struggle Kain slowed down his pace slightly, allowing her to walk alongside him without difficulty. Passing down the arched hallways, the walls lined with murals of the events that had shaped Kain's empire painted on the white plaster, the vampire master and the young human girl were quiet. 

The Sanctuary of the Clans was a sprawling building, covering the blighted landscape with its immense size. Banners from the six Clans were displayed at every corner, the colours melding with each other and at the same time clashing. Arcane symbols were carved into the alabaster marble, the colour already beginning to fade with the passing of time. In the airy courtyards, trees and shrubs cut and pruned into fantastic shapes, dignitaries from the Clans conducted business on behalf of their Lords. Their voices, loud and overlapping, fell silent the moment Kain came into view. Moving as one, all the vampires dropped down to one knee and bowed their head, not raising up their eyes until their emperor, a god walking amongst them, passed by. Voices resuming the moment Kain and Clara were out of sight, which was when the vampire spoke.

"Your friend, Clara. Does she always leave you waiting?"

Clara could give nothing but a quizzical look at her grandfather. "What do you mean by that?"

"That she always promises to wait for you and yet she never does. That she might not be as trustworthy a friend as you lead yourself to believe." Kain's yellow eyes tracked the flight path of a small bird, something so rarely seen nowadays in Nosgoth. His granddaughter shrugged her thin shoulders.

"She has done this to me a few times, but she apologizes for it and says something else had come up." Kain nodded, not bothering to hide the disbelief in his eyes or the way his mouth turned down distastefully. Clara looked away from him ashamed, scuffing the toe of her slipper on the floor. "You want me to know then that she's lying to me, is that right grandfather? That my friend is not really much of a friend to me at all? It says that just as clearly on your face. I am not stupid but she's-" Clara sighed. "She is my friend, and I forgive her for it."

Kain cleared his throat and resumed walking. "I would not want a person who tells lies for as a friend, Clara."

His granddaughter raced to catch up to him. "What would you know about friendship, grandfather?!" Clara's voice was thick, her tone defensive. "You stand by yourself as a god. My father says that a ruler cannot have friends; what would you know about this?" She did not give an apology for her rude outburst; Clara knew that she could be punished for what she had just been told. But, even at seventeen, she stared down the one person in Nosgoth that did not make her fearful. Her hands balled into fists, shaking slightly, the young woman waited for Kain to make his reply.

When he spoke, Kain's voice was cold and quiet, but filled with an arrogance and power that Clara had seen when the Clans had come together. "Do not question me about such things, Clara, for if you knew what I know then you would not be so hasty in your words. I will forgive you because your years are not many, but never harbor any assumptions that I do not know what friendship is." Kain began to stalk down the halls, moving faster and faster. Clara had to jog slightly in order to hear him talking, the deep cough she gave echoing eerily down the long hall they were in.

"What does-does that mean?" Her face was flushed. "Grandfather, slow down please!"

Kain did not slow down. "When I was much younger, I believed in friendship. I blindly allowed people to get close to me, and where did it lead? Betrayal. I was taken advantage because of my naivety and stupidity, firm in the knowledge that my so-called friends would remain loyal to me when we faced our greatest challenge. It was no so. And do you know what I did to those once friends turned traitors, Clara? I killed them all. I destroyed them but not before letting them know that things would not have gone the way they had had they remained loyal to me, as true friends always do." 

He waited for a response. When none came from his grandchild, Kain turned around to see why Clara was so silent and received a rare moment of shock. Back down the hall, leaning up against a fresco, her face pale and drawn with a fine sheen of sweat covering it, was Clara. She was gasping weakly for air. Unable to keep up with her grandfather's stride, and suffering from her lingering cough, the young lady could not even walk anymore. Kain was quickly by his grandchild's side, holding her in his arms as she pitched forwards, her strength gone.

"Clara?"

Eyes fluttered open, fixed on her grandfather's face with an effort. A cough, much stronger than any of the others, erupted from Clara, making her whole body shudder as if a powerful current had coursed through her. Blood flecked her sweet lips, falling onto her dress and marring the cloth. Kain looked at her in horror. Dimly he recalled a time, when he was still human, on an epidemic that had coursed through Coorhagen, killing many people before the healers were able to contain it. It left people short of breath, sweat soaking their bodies, leaving them weak and helpless as coughs wracked their bodies. The blood, Kain remembered, came from the lungs as they slowly collapsed, which meant that the disease had already won and the apothecaries could do nothing...

Clara's sickness was worse than he knew, perhaps even worse than what Melchiah knew.

"No, no, no. It cannot be," he whispered softly in denial, more to himself than to Clara.

"Grandfather, can you take me home?" she asked softly. Clara's efforts to breath were becoming difficult. Picking her up easily in his arms, grateful that there were no vampires around to see Clara in such a state, Kain nodded. 

"Oh course, Clara. I'm your grandfather and you are my family. I will take you home and you will be cared for." Closing his eyes, the ancient vampire summoned one of his many Dark Gifts, the ability to teleport himself over vast distances in mere moments. He had never used his power for something like this before, but Kain found it somehow right. As the air shimmered around the two, Kain's mind fixed on an image inside Melchiah's palace, Clara spoke one more time.

"She is still my friend, grandfather."

*              *              *              *

Melchiah could not hold back the sob that escaped from his throat. As Kain had told his story, reminiscing about Clara, the sadness had begun to eat away at Melchiah. His throat had become clogged and felt like it had become stuffed with cotton. No words could express the way he felt, and when the cry could no longer be contained within him, it had burst forth. The anguish in that one note was more complex than a world of screams. Kain could do nothing as Melchiah held the rag doll close to him, the one thing of Clara's that was the closest link of her to him now.

"Tuberculosis," Melchiah raged, wiping the tears from his cheeks. "It was that disease that killed her, making her waste away until she was nothing, nothing. It killed me to see my beautiful little girl confined to her bed, unable to move, unable to speak, filled only with pain. The light that she had was just snuffed out, Sire, gone like that. And in Clara's final days when she-"

Unable to finish the sentence, Melchiah just shook his head and uttered a low moan filled with loss. It was enough pain that Melchiah remembered his Sire bearing Clara home, how the apothecary and healing mage had been called for, but even their arts could do nothing. Kain had been right; the disease had spread too quickly and they knew about it too late. That had been torture for Melchiah, torture for any parent to see their child dying and knowing that nothing could be done.

"I would have given my life for her if I could," the youngest Lieutenant brokenly whispered. "My life for her's. She was my child, my baby." Melchiah cradled the rag doll close, its droopy smile seemingly mocking him.

"I will leave you, Melchiah," Kain gently spoke. "Know that if you need anything, then all you have to do is come to me." The emperor of Nosgoth left the room before Melchiah could give his hollow thanks. Now left alone, new memories from his brothers and sire inside of him, running through his mind, Melchiah felt the walls of Clara's room closing in on him. How could he keep on living? Why was he still moving?

_...Clara was walking, she was walking! Melchiah stretched out his talons towards his daughter, a wide smile across his face as he coaxed Clara on. She stood, unsure and a little unbalanced, on her feet, but there was trust in those blue eyes. She took an unwieldy step forwards, her arms outstretched to her father, confident that if she fell then he would catch her. Two more steps, closer to her father. Clara burbled happily, finally reaching her parent and feeling his strong talons hold her. The claws would never cut her flesh; they would keep her safe._

_"You walked Clara," Melchiah nearly sang the words like a praise. He held her above him ad laughed. "Yes, you finally walked!"_

Melchiah was still moving because he was a father to his Clan, to the Melchiahim. They looked to him for guidance, for reassurance as any child would. When anything wrong happened, they turned towards their father and sire to make things right. Melchiah's children, his clan. But they were not _his_ true children, not as Clara had been. He cared for them with the best intentions, but Clara had captured his heart. She was above and beyond them; they would be unable to ever obtain the affection that Melchiah gave to his daughter.

_...His second-in-command, defiant in front of the Clan Lord. How dare he make such a remark about Clara, Melchiah fumed._

_"She is a human, sire. Nothing more than feed for us," Melchiah's second spoke forcefully as he stated his opinion. "Why waste your time with her? You are a god!"_

_Melchiah was rarely given to anger, but when it did come, the Clan Lord knew he could be a force to be reckoned with. He let his second-in-command talk on for a while longer, while the other officers stayed to the sides of the hall in silence, keeping their opinions to themselves. When Melchiah did strike – and he did – the other officers did not offer up a hand to help the beleaguered vampire against his sire. _

_There had been an opening after in Melchiah's officer ranks, and it was quickly filled._

Clara had come to him as a baby, orphaned to the world and lost in its chaos. Melchiah had felt the same emotions raging through him, but the storm had calmed after Clara came into his life. It had a purpose, a meaning. Melchiah had never bonded with another being as he had with Clara, watching her grow and learn as the world whirled around her. She had been blessed, growing up in a world that for others while filled with darkness, had been nothing but light for Clara. In those rare moments, Melchiah wondered what Clara would have been like if she had never been dropped at his doorstep.

_..."Father, why do the humans work for you," Clara demanded one day as she and her father were outside, walking along one of the balconies._

_"Because they are my servants. Because the vampires have conquered them." Melchiah did not know how to explain it well enough to his daughter, who was only eight._

_"Uncle Zephon calls them slaves. He says humans are not worth very much. And uncle Dumah says that I shouldn't even pay attention to them."_

_Melchiah sighed. "Your uncles views are jaded, Clara. Don't listen to what they say, understand me?" She nodded. "These humans are my servants, and I treat them as well as I can but at the same time, I must still show them who is master."_

_"I am human. So should I be working with them then, father, since you have humans working for you?"_

_He had ruffled her hair and smiled at Clara's simplistic view. "No Clara, because you are my daughter. You are special to me, and different from them."_

_"Why?"_

Why? Yes indeed, why? Melchiah had churned that conversation over and over again in his mind. The answer always came out the same. It could never be expressed or explained in words, no one else would even begin to comprehend such a thing from a Clan Lord. Perhaps if something like this had appeared in their lives, and they had run those hurdles as well, then the same understanding could possibly be reached. 

"Because she is my only child," Melchiah proclaimed quietly to himself. "From now, until the day that my final death comes, Clara will always be my only child. Those were the moments in my life that mattered, the ones that truly counted. I measured my happiness by her, my time through her. And now with her gone..." His yellow eyes looked around the room, holding everything in his mind's eye as best as he could. "With her gone, it will never be the same."

Placing the rag doll up against the pillows on the bed, Melchiah gave a wistful smile. Clara had loved that doll more than anything else. Even when she lay in her bed, breathing her last with her father lying beside her, holding onto his talon tight, Clara still held the doll in the crook of her arm, refusing to let go. The simplest things in life were always the most precious. 

Melchiah left Clara's bedroom, closing and locking the door quietly behind him. Some memories were good to reflect upon, but others, the ones that truly counted, were coveted away, locked up and only opened when they really mattered. Too precious for the rest of the world to see, who might ridicule them, they were only to be brought up with a few special people. 

Family. Friends.

The Clan Lord walked down the lonely halls of his palace, seeking companionship with his vampires.

-- End --


End file.
